Only a Game
by JunoMagic
Summary: When Jarro decided to test a new kind of computer game, she never knew how quickly the game would become real and dangerous... AU. OFC. Complete. Mithril Awards 2005 SemiFinalist.
1. A New Experience of Computer Games

**Disclaimer: **This is a work of fan fiction, written because the author has an abiding love for the works of J. R. R .Tolkien. The characters, settings, places, and languages used in this work are the property of the Tolkien Estate, Tolkien Enterprises, and possibly New Line Cinema, except for certain original characters that belong to the author of the said work. The author will not receive any money or other remuneration for presenting the work on this archive site. The work is the intellectual property of the author, is available solely for the private enjoyment of readers at FanFictionNet, and may not be copied or redistributed by any means without the explicit written consent of the author.

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**oooOooo **

**1. A New Experience of Computer Games**

Once again I had lost my job. If had only kept my mouth shut. If I only had managed to keep my thoughts to myself. Just this once. But I was always blurting out exactly what I thought at exactly the wrong moment and with exactly the wrong audience. It had not been a good idea to tell my boss that I thought they were ignoring new research on purpose because the results would not sit well with the politicians, who had paid for this job. I had spoken my mind one time too often. And now I was back at looking over the job advertisements in the newspapers. Trouble was that the consulting agency I had been working with, was one of the biggest and most well-known in London.

Perhaps I should move. Go to the USA. Or drown myself. Perhaps I would take a holiday first. Holiday. I liked the sound of the word. Holiday. Sun and fun. Then I recalled my financial situation. Although my flat was tiny, the rent was not. Living in London came at a price. I sighed. No holiday. But no job in my line of work, either.

I was almost ready to close the paper and kick it into the basket, when an ad caught my eye.

_"Beta-test the new dimension in computer games! Have you ever dreamed of leaving this world? Did you ever want to join up with the crew of the Enterprise? Did you ever want to travel through Middle Earth at the side of Legolas? Here's your opportunity to do so! And you even get paid for it! Call 900-277-833."_

There were some details about the offer in fine print, stating that only healthy people with no heart problems and no pregnant women need apply and that the testing would take place on a Saturday, taking most of the day, ten to twelve hours. The pay was handsome for only ten or twelve hours.

I did not particularly care for Star Trek. But fooling around with elves and hobbits on a computer for a day did not sound bad. Not bad at all!

"A new dimension of gaming" – I sincerely doubted the truth of this line. But, well, they had to make a living, too.

Saturday … I checked my time planner … no, no plans for Saturday. Thank you, Mike, for breaking up with me in time for me to lose my job. He could not have known that. He probably had seen it coming. He had told me to get over my childish rebellions.

"Accept the world as it is, Jarro. Try to grow up! I'm sick of your ranting, I am sick of you never just living with things the way they are."

I had said "Never."

And he had walked out on me.

When I had returned from my job the next day, his things were gone and his key was in an envelop in the letterbox. So. No plans for Saturday. I picked up the phone.

They told me that they indeed could use another woman for their game of "The Lord of the Rings" and could I be there at 7 a.m. on Saturday morning.

I said I would be on time, and that was that.

**ooo**

I took one look at the strange helmet and the couches and the monitors and laughed out loud.

"You are trying to make fun of me, right?"

The thin computer freak was looking at me with eyebrows raised in a frown. "No. No fun. This is the break through in gaming. We have worked closely with neurologists and have been able to expand on the very newest discoveries about the chemistry and the workings of the human brain. This is the real thing. A real world to experience for the gamer!"

His eyes blazed with the gleam of a fanatic.

I still didn't believe him. "You've got to be kidding! You really mean to tell me, that if I put on this thing and lie down on this couch that I will be warped into Middle Earth? For real? You do know that there have been several Hollywood horror movies about this idea of computer games? And several famous science fiction books?"

He looked at me with a hint of anger in his eyes. But his voice remained quite pleasant, when he responded. "I am aware of that fact. Companies all over the world have been trying to get this working, really working, for years. And we have finally done it. 'New Dimensions' has done it. It works and it will be cheap enough for the mass market."

He paused and frowned at me. "You realize that it is a real honour to test this new product? And I think we pay very well on top of this honour!"

I shrugged. "Okay, okay – I am still not convinced, but I will give it a go, as you said, Mr Smith, you pay very well."

What is another wasted Saturday in a life full of wasted Saturdays? And how could anybody go on living with the surname "Smith" after the Matrix?

I conjured a smile on my face and turned my attention to Mr. Smith. "Well, then, Mr. Smith. Would you explain to me how this is supposed to work?"

A smile appeared on the clean-shaven face of the computer guru.

"But of course. It is quite simple, actually. First we chose a character to your liking and feed it into the programme. Then you put the neural helmet on your lovely head and get yourself comfortable and I start up the program. We will wire you to some machines to observe how your brain and your heart responds to the stimulus of the program. There will be a doctor around to monitor everything. I assure you, there is no risk involved! We only need the data to satisfy the government. When the game is finished, you will return to this reality, having enjoyed a day of fun and relaxation."

He positively beamed at me.

I frowned. "Did you use the visuals of the movies? Or do they look like figures from a cartoon? And – wait – what's with the time? If it's real time, to experience "The Lord of the Rings" you would have to keep me wired to your PC for weeks, no, months!"

His smile turned beatifical.

"Oh, no", he murmured. "The brain is so easily deceived. Minutes turn into hours and even weeks, hours into months and years. Why – according to our research you could live a life time in a day!"

I stared at him, still not convinced. But the doctor with his mop of curly brown hair and his easy smile, who had been introduced to me earlier as "Jim Watkins", had been following our conversation and reassured me this really was the case.

"Don't worry, Ms McCourt. I will take good care of you." He winked at me.

Perhaps it would turn out not to be wasted Saturday after all? I winked back at him and was rewarded with a broad grin.

"Well, Ms McCourt," the computerman interrupted. "What kind of character would you like to be? A woman or a man? A hobbit? A dwarf? An elf? We have several options, joining the story at different points. But how the story goes on from then is entirely up to you. This is the first computer game that is open to every decision you make! The most complex simulation available in the world." His voice was full of pride.

"Let me show you the characters we have developed for this round of testing. Or we could develop a new character, especially for you!"

It took me an hour to settle on a character. In the end I decided to join the story at Bree, becoming a young female Dùnadan with not very much experience, but some knowledge of sword fighting, elvish languages and other useful things. Though I did not understand how they would get this kind of information into my brain. There's a reason I did not study medicine like my father had wanted me to.

I liked the idea of being a ranger.

I loved hiking and I had – in real life – done some mock fighting with wooden swords in one or two live action role playing games my brother had talked me into. I knew "The Lord of the Rings" by heart, and I had spent the last winter annoying Mike with trying to learn Quenya and Sindarin. Mike had not really understood my love for all those things fantastical and mythical.

A female Dúnadan … that sounded quite believable to my mind. I would go with them to Rivendell, meet Elrond – here my heart gave a little flop – and if the game was as boring and unrealistic as I expected it to be, I could get out of it then. And go home for a rerun of the movies.

"Okay", I said. "I will be this female Dúnadan. Do I get to keep my own name? I don't know if my brain would like being called 'Mary-Sue' or something like that."

At this the nice doctor laughed out loud, but the computer freak just stared at me. This just goes to tell you about computer guys … no sense of fun and no fantasy at all. But I would bet you anything that the nice doctor knew about fan fiction.

He winked at me again.

My, my, he really seemed to be a nice chap …

The computer guy was tugging at my elbow. "Ms McCourt? Are you ready?"

I turned to Mr. Smith. "If you could point out the Ladies' Rooms to me, I'll be back in a moment."

He did.

Washing my hands I was looking at my reflection in the mirror. The funny ways life sometimes takes … I thought. Then I smiled at my reflection. I would get this gaming stuff over as quickly as I could, which should not pose any problem and then ask Mr. Watkins out to dinner. Things were definitely looking up.

**ooo**

The helmet and its metal connections to the skin of my head felt somewhat cold and uncomfortable. The wiring of sensors to measure my heart rate and blood pressure were not exactly cozy, either. I reminded myself that I was getting paid for this. I put the visor down in front of my eyes and lay back on the couch.

"Are you ready?" Mr. Smith asked.

"As ready as I will ever be," I joked. Then I remembered to ask if they were going to use the soundtracks, too. But I could not move my lips, I felt as if was falling into a quicksand made of soft cotton. It felt exactly like being given an anaesthetic for surgery.

Everything went black.

**oooOooo**

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**Please feel free to leave a comment!**

_Anything at all:_ If you noticed a typo, if you don't like a characterization or description, if you thought a line especially funny, if there was anything you particularly enjoyed … I am really interested in what my readers think about my writing.

You can leave a public comment (signed or anonymous), send me a private message, visit my forums or mail me off-site: juno _underscore_ magic _at_ magic _dot_ ms

Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed this story.

Yours  
JunoMagic


	2. Where is the Switch?

**2. Where is the Switch?**

I came to lying on my back under a tree.

Cool, I thought. The tree looks real. It really looks like a tree. Not at all like one of those trick glasses, which project the 3D-pictures in Imax-cinemas. And the ground is hard! I sat up. A gnarled root had been poking my back. I stretched out my hand and felt – wood, root, and bark.

This felt real! This really, really felt real!

I stared around, utterly astonished. I was sitting a few feet to the side of a muddy road, under an oak tree. The countryside was hills and clumps of trees, hedges; everything was very green and lush with spring. The sky above me was blue as can be, and the air was crisp and clean. Birds were singing, and a bee buzzed across my line of vision.

This was amazing!

What did they do to my brain that this felt real like this? Really real?

Full of wonder I touched the ground and the grass next to me. It felt like earth and grass. I dug my fingers into the earth and brought them up again to smell them. It smelt like humid, fertile earth. And my fingers were dirty, my nails black from the soil.

Wow!

Then I remembered who I was supposed to be in this game and craned my head to look at myself.

Cool!

I was wearing clothes like the Aragorn in the movies, trousers, tunic, and jacket, everything suitably faded and worn, in soft dark green colours. I felt comfortable and at home in the clothes, almost as if I had really been wearing them for a long time. What else?

A dagger and oh, cool beyond cool, a sword, a real sword! I got it out of its sheath and admired it. It was a sword with a one and a half grip, that is to say, it was light enough to be wielded by a woman in one hand, but the grip was broad enough to be held in both hands, giving the strike additional strength. I felt excitement spread through me.

Even if none of the programmed persons worked, just walking about this beautiful country in this crazy attire was good fun.

Then I noticed a kind of grey backpack lying two feet away from me in the grass. More stuff!

I grinned at myself. This was like a birthday!

I was amazed to feel the texture of the cloth and shook my head again and again. This really, truly felt real. I sniffed at the cloth. It smelt slightly musty. Really_ real_.

Let's see what's in there, I thought and opened the pack.

On top was a sleeping bag made of a thick woolen blanket. Inside there was a bundle of provisions, some bread and cheese, three apples, a bottle of water made from a strange leathery material, a tinder box and flint (thank you little brother for towing me along to your live action role playing games), a map, two pairs of socks and underwear, a spare shirt, several strips of linen (at first I could not figure out what they were meant to be, then my hand went automatically to my left upper arm – the Implanon was still there; even if the hours of the game lasted for months in this artificial world, I would not have to deal with those flimsy strips to take care of personal hygiene… and anyway, why did they programme stupid stuff like that? Bad enough to have to put up with in the real world – who would want this kind of thing in a game?), and the last thing I found:a small black box.

When I opened the box, it revealed a red button. On the black plastic below the red button were four letters in white: "Stop."

I inhaled sharply. I had forgotten to ask how to stop the game if I had had enough. Here was the answer. I closed the box and carefully put it back into the very bottom of the pack.

Then I put everything else back. But I kept one of the apples to eat in the sunshine, which did not exist, under a tree, which did not exist.

Can you eat apples that do not exist?

The apple looked exactly like an apple ought to look, green and clean, with enticing spots of red. Oh, Eve! I took a bite. This illusion of an apple tasted like an apple should taste, fresh, and slightly sour, tart.

How the hell had they kept this brilliant invention quiet?

Then I remembered the story. I had chosen to be a Dúnadan.

I should be at Bree. Why wasn't I?

I thought about my reaction to waking under a tree, which looked like a tree, getting all my stuff out of my pack and exclaiming at everything. If the people and creatures of the story were as well programmed as these things, I would have looked very weird to them… and they would be programmed to react to my actions. No wonder I was put under a tree next to a road. Now all I had to do was to find out in which direction Bree was and go there.

I got out the map and stepped on to the road, looking round. This was either the Greenway or the Great East Road. I strained my eyes. Was that smoke to the South? It certainly looked like it. I was probably some miles north of Bree on the Greenway. Folding up the map I got my pack ready, patted my sword and smiled at myself. Jarro, the ranger from the North.

Didn't that sound cool?

I was walking along in the sunshine, marvelling at the countryside, the warmth of the sun, the feeling of the road under my feet. This felt almost more real than my real life!

After I had been walking for about an hour or two, I could not really say as my watch had not come with me into the game, I could discern wall-like structures and the silhouettes of buildings to the South-East of the road. The Greenway, I had been right. And this was Bree.

Half an hour later I was at the North-Gate.

I knocked against it. Would they speak English? Or Westron? And how would I know?

"Who are you and what do you want in Bree?" Came a gruff voice from behind the gates.

This certainly sounded like English.

I felt like giggling madly. There are people in this game, and they sound just like real people!

"My name's Jarro and I am a ranger from the North," I said and felt like a little girl playing Indians and cowboys. "I want to go to the Prancing Pony. A friend is waiting for me there."

The gate opened, revealing a tall, if slightly pot-bellied man in a grubby uniform, a spear in his left hand. He looked me up and down, his gaze stopping at the sword. Then he nodded at me and stepped aside to admit me to the town of Bree.

Inside the town walls, the road went on in a southeastern direction. To my right there were some green meadows with cows and sheep and goats on them, and three or four children busy watching the animals. To my left a hill rose, with houses and round mounds with windows scattered upon its slopes. Bree-hill, I thought. And the mounds, which looked like big molehills had to be, in fact, hobbit-holes.

Those computer freaks had to have spent years programming this!

About half a mile from the gate a large house was set back from the street to the left. It was built into the hill, several stories high, with stables and barns around it. A sign swayed in the wind above its door, with a white, rearing horse on it and black, bold letters sloping down the back of the horse. The Prancing Pony.

I smiled, full of excitement.

Let the game begin, I thought, and entered the inn.


	3. Dr Jim Watkins

**3. Dr Jim Watkins**

Dr. Jim Watkins looked in fascination at the waves of Ms Jarro McCourt's EEC and EEG.

Her heart was beating regularly and her blood pressure was exactly right for her age. Her brain waves were fluctuating as if she was awake and moving about.

This new device was a miracle. He wondered what it could do for mentally disturbed patients, or for persons recovering from a stroke. Then he turned his attention back to Ms McCourt.

What a nice girl, he thought. Had she actually winked at him, or had he only imagined that? Perhaps, in a few hours when she got out of this game, he would take heart and invite her to dinner.

He smiled at her.

Yes, perhaps he would do that.


	4. The Prancing Pony

**4. The Prancing Pony**

I stepped into the inn and looked around in amazement. This looked so astoundingly real!

The entrance hall was a large room going far back into the hill. There were many doors and corridors leading off from it and at the back I glimpsed a dark wooden staircase. The ceiling was low and huge dark beams of timber ran the whole length of the hall. The walls were panelled with dark wood, which had the wonderful patina only the passage of centuries can convey. The white washed walls above the panelling were streaked with grey and in the corners I spotted some cracks. The floor was covered with a faded carpet of burgundy red, and in front of the stained glass windows to either side of the door sagging easy chairs were positioned.

I walked up to the reception, a huge desk crafted from the same dark wood as the panelling.

No one was in sight, but a brass bell sat on a bit of red felt. My stomach did a flip and I picked up the bell, again wondering at how solid this bell – which only existed in a computer game and my imagination – felt in my hand. I rang the bell, and the high tinkling sound surprised me again.

After a moment, a door to the left behind the reception desk opened. A short plump woman with brown curls and red, dimpled cheeks emerged and walked up to the desk, smiling at me.

"Good day to you, mistress! What can I do for you? Mary Butterbur at your service."

Mary Butterbur? She was not in the books. But she certainly looked and sounded like a real person. Cool! Perhaps they had decided that old Barliman needed a wife … or a daughter, I thought, because the woman could not be much older than thirty.

I cleared my throat. "My name is Jarro; I'm a ranger from the North. I am looking for – " I paused. They would not know Aragorn's name. And what was it, what had Frodo called himself at Bree? Underhill! "I am looking for another ranger. He's called Strider, a tall man with dark hair and grey eyes. And some hobbits out of the Shire, a Mr. Underhill and his companions." I smiled at Mrs. Butterbur. I felt this had been quite a good act, I had sounded natural and self-assured.

But Mary Butterbur looked at me with an expression of puzzled amazement on her face.

"Strider? Hobbits out of the Shire?"

"Yes, I wanted to meet them here." I said, with a mounting feeling of apprehension. Perhaps the game was not as well programmed as I had thought it to be up until now.

"Goodness! It's been two hundred years since there was a lot of coming and going between Bree and the Shire. My father always said that his father – Barliman Butterber the first, that is - was great friends with the Master of Buckland and the Thain, but he did tend to exaggerate. I know that Meriadoc Brandybuck and Peregrin Took, great travelers they were and it's said they knew people from all over, stayed here, for I've seen their names in the old registers." She pursed her lips and shook her head thoughtfully. "But that was a long time ago, and I don't think I have ever seen a Hobbit from the shire. Not that they wouldn't be welcome! But they don't go outside the boundaries these days."

Then she narrowed her eyes and looked at me suspiciously. "Ranger, you said? Vagabonds? Gypsies?" Her hand reached for the bell – and I had the sudden impression that her ringing would produce burly male Butterburs set on inflicting bodily harm on me to protect this Mary Butterbur.

"No, no, no! Not at all, not at all! We are not vagabonds or criminals – thieves or something. We are just…" What kind of people were rangers? "We are just… people from the North. We travel a lot. That is why some people call us rangers. Don't you know?" I stared at her. This was a curious error for a computer game to develop.

"Rangers. People from the North."

Mary Butterbur did not sound convinced. "If you say so. But I don't know any rangers. And I don't know anyone called Strider. Perhaps your friends will be along later." She looked at me expectantly. "Do you want a room? Or something to eat while you are waiting for your friends?"

If the game did not play the story as advertised, I was not sure whether I wanted to spend more time in this world of illusion. Perhaps I'd better go back and ask the nice doctor out to dinner. But I guessed taking a room and having a meal would not hurt. Even if there was a flaw in the program, which had swallowed the plot, the inn was amazing, and this Mary Butterbur-person was absolutely life-like.

"A room would be lovely", I said and put my hand in my pocket, feeling for a purse. To my relief there was a purse, and it felt quite substantial. "And dinner would be great."

This put the smile back on the face of the landlady. "That's two shillings for the room and six farthings for breakfast. Dinner is at six, that would be eight farthings with soup and dessert."

"How about two shillings ten farthings for bed, dinner and breakfast? And I might stay for another night." She thought about my offer, and then nodded.

I opened my purse, feeling my heart race when I realized that I did not know what the money I had mentioned would look like as coins in this game. But somehow, miraculously, when I went through the contents of my purse, I heard a voice in my mind each time I touched a coin, which seemed to say – in the same tone I heard my own thoughts in my mind – a beautiful new shilling, a brass farthing, a silver penny and so on. I counted the money on the desk. Mary Butterbur watched attentively, and then she smiled at me and rang her bell once.

Out of a door to the right a small figure entered the hall, running up to the desk. At first I thought it was a child, but when I looked at the person more closely, it was a hobbit.

He could not be anything else. And again I was amazed and thrilled at the way this game did work.

The hobbit was as tall as a human child of ten or twelve years, but had the figure of a grown up, the proportions were in no way stinted, just a bit smaller than an adult human would normally be. And there was the beginning of a pot-belly, so the hobbit was likely not young. He had a mop of curly brown hair, merry brown eyes and he did indeed wear no shoes. His feet however were not abnormally large. The edges of their soles looked worn and brown and leathery, which was not surprising if the hobbit had never worn shoes in his life, and there was curly brown hair growing on them.

"Bob, take Mistress Jarro to room number twenty-one. And then I will need you back in the kitchen." Mary Butterbur turned back to me. "Bob will show you to your room. I will see you later. Dinner is served from six o'clock in the the Parlor."

Having said that, the landlady disappeared through the door to the left.

Bob, the hobbit, smiled at me. "Please follow me, Miss. Do you have any more pieces of luggage I can help you with?"

I shook my head. "No, that backpack is all I have. I will carry that myself."

I did not like the thought of entrusting the box with the switch into the hands of a programmed hobbit. Maybe I had watched too much Matrix. Nope. I just preferred to carry my stuff myself.

Bob took me up the stairs on to the first floor and back into the hill. Finally he stopped at a brown door with the brass number twenty-one nailed to the wood.

"This is it", the hobbit said, and opened the door with a flourish.

I stepped into the room and was instantly delighted.

This was the picture of an English country inn or bed-and-breakfast. The walls were washed in a warm yellow colour and the room was very well supplied with comfortable furniture, a big bed with a yellow and white chequered counterpane and two nightstands with thick white candles, a chest of drawers with a white and blue ewer and bowl for washing, a small desk and a chair and a brown and yellow rug on the scrubbed boards of the floor. A window looked out across the stables towards a meadow with grazing horses.

"The bathroom is just over there", Bob pointed to the right. "Will you need anything right now?"

"No, thank you", I answered and put a small coin in the hand of the hobbit.

Bob bobbed his thanks and left .

When the door closed behind him, I walked to the window. Stables, horses, everything looked real. I touched the wood of the windowsill. Real! I put my backpack down on the floor. A thump. It sounded real. I sat down on the bed. A comfortable, firm mattress, soft, clean covers.

I closed my eyes.

Everything felt real. I felt real. This was really strange. Everything seemed to work perfectly. Why then was the story not the way it was supposed to be? Why was the story not the way Mr. Smith had explained it was going to be for me? Mr. Smith had said I would meet Aragorn in the Prancing Pony and he would ask me to help him get the hobbits safely to Rivendell. That sounded logical and fine to me; it fit well into the original story. How was it possible that the original story had warped in this way? If I had understood Mary Butterbur correctly, she was the descendant of the original Barliman Butterbur, and the war of the rings was over by more than two hundred years. How could a computer game develop an error like that?

Perhaps I ought to exit the game and tell Mr. Smith that his programme did not work quite the way it should.

But then I looked around the lovely room and thought about how real and funny the hobbit had been. I could just stay for the night and see if the game perhaps returned to its original plot. Just to see what happens, I told myself. Just to be able to really tell this computer firm how their game worked and how it did not work. Sleeping and eating in the game would certainly be a test of the depth of its features. I was not certain about using the toilet, however. I had forgotten to ask how the depth of this particular detail would look like in the real world. And I did not want to wet myself, or worse, in front of the attractive young physician. Just don't think about it, I thought. Maybe this detail won't come up at all.

I washed my hands and face and went down to have a look around.

The Prancing Pony was a large mansion, with sprawling outbuildings, stables and barns, there were a lot of man-size rooms, but also some hobbit-holes and small rooms for dwarves built into Bree-hill. It was brilliant to see everything in the light of day and at leisure. Judging from the horses and ponies in stables and meadows, the inn was quite busy at the moment and as the afternoon passed, I grew more and more excited about what kinds of people I would meet in the Parlor at dinner.

I was not disappointed. The programme might be flawed, but it was certainly up and running.

When I entered the guest room at half past six, it was already crowded with travellers and inhabitants of Bree. There were short, friendly men and women looking a bit like Mary Butterbur, country folk content with their place in this world. At a long table a company of traders were sitting and discussing the condition of roads and the inclement weather of the past years. In a corner – I hastily looked away, just to look back surreptitiously at once – was a group of what had to be dwarves, short, stout figures the size of a hobbit, but much stronger in built and girth. They wore long beards twisted into complicated braids and had fierce eyes set under bushy brows. They were smoking short pipes and had large mugs of beer sitting on the table in front of them. At a round table in the corner some hobbits were obviously celebrating a party. Probably a birthday, because one of the hobbits was presenting the others with little wrapped boxes. The room was brightly lit with many candles; it was warm and cosy, not at all as gloomy as it was in the movies. But it was spring, the cloudless sky darkening to a cool midnight-blue darkness, not at all like the rainy day, on which the hobbits had reached Bree in the movies.

I chose a seat in a corner from which I could see most of the Parlor, and close enough to hear as much as possible from the conversations of the other guests.

Bob and another hobbit, a young girl with light brown curls just touching her shoulders and an easy smile, were serving. Mary Butterbur was at the bar preparing mugs of beer and filling glasses with red wine. I ordered a glass of red wine and the daily special.

The red wine was very nice. It smelled fruity and tasted a bit like Chianti. The special was a soup with mushrooms and a steak with green beans and a baked potato and a raspberry tart for dessert. Everything smelled wonderful, and the taste and texture seemed more real to me than many a meal I had cooked myself in the real world. How in hell is this possible, I asked myself.

When I had finished and felt as full as I ever had in real life after eating a three-course-dinner, I remained in my corner sipping slowly at a second glass of wine and observing the other guests.

"The Elves are gone, I tell you," one of the traders was saying forcefully.

"Yeah", another man of the company put in. He was an ugly swarthy fellow with yellow teeth and slimy black hair. I grinned to myself. An understudy from a certain movie about a certain young wizard? "They are gone. They knew that bad times were coming for Middle-earth, so they have gone, leaving us mortals to stick it out. Traitorous demons!"

"I say it's just as well that those unnatural creatures are finally gone," a third trader commented. This one not quite as ugly, but his face was sallow and his eyes were mean.

"This is our world. Those unnatural beings had no business ever being here. Look what they did when they were here! They brought only war and death. Now we can at least live and trade in peace."

"Sure, sure," the second one answered. "But how long will this peace last? I tell you, bad times are coming. I feel it in me bones."

Yet another trader joined the debate, this one younger and actually nice looking. "I heard the sons of Elrond Half-Elven of Rivendell still dwell in the secret valley at the foot of the Misty Mountains. Then not all elves would have left Middle-earth. So perhaps the rumours are not true that the earth is changing."

"I don't believe it," the first man objected. "No one has ever seen this valley. And then, what ever would they want here, all alone? What would they be waiting for if all their folk had gone across the sea? And, mind, I am not sure they did. Perhaps elves are not really immortal and those are only tales. Perhaps they just died, every one of them."

"If they did, I say good riddance!" That was the one who did not like elves at all. "Unnatural creatures, corrupting our lands, if they are dead, that's all for the best."

Then the talk turned back to matters of trading.

I sat in my corner and stared into my glass of red wine. Was it possible that the programme was not flawed at all? Perhaps this was a game set in Middle-earth after the war of the rings, and Mr. Smith had accidentally used the wrong programme for this test run. Yes, that must be the solution. I was in Middle-earth. And it was the Middle-earth of the books and the movies. Elrond had lived here, his name was still known. There were hobbits and dwarves.

And … Elrond's sons! Perhaps they really were in Rivendell.

I thought about the map I had found in my pack. If I was not very much mistaken, the road to Rivendell had been on that map.

I _could_ go to Rivendell.

My stomach did a little flip. I could go to Rivendell and meet the handsome twin sons of Elrond I had so sorely missed in the movies.

That would be a perfect adventure!

My heart started beating faster. A real adventure, I thought. Whereas I had known the story of the game I had started out to play, I knew nothing at all about this future Middle-earth, where apart from Elrond's sons apparently no one I knew from the original story was still alive.


	5. On the Road

**5. On the Road**

When I woke in the morning, I felt as if I had had a good night's sleep. There was no indication at all that I could not have possibly, really, have spent a whole night sleeping.

I got up, washed, packed my things and wondered all the time how those computer freaks and neurologists tricked my brain into believing that I had just spent a night sleeping in a comfortable bed at the Prancing Pony. The issue with the toilet had taken its inevitable course. I tried very hard not to think about what this could mean in real life. I only hoped they had worked this out, too. If not I would give them hell.

I took a moment to study the map. It did not look difficult to find the way to Rivendell. I figured I would be able to walk twenty miles a day. After all, I was pretty fit in real life and I was supposed to be a ranger in this game. Ten days to the Last Bridge, perhaps less if I walked faster. I would just have to see how it – how I would go. From the Last Bridge to Rivendell an additional six to seven days.

I remembered a course I had taken at college about the medieval kings travelling through their kingdoms. _"Someone, who is used to walking, can cover a distance between 13 and 25 miles a day, depending on the conditions of the road and the weather, walking at a speed of 2.5 to 3.75 miles per hour."_

The researchers had actually tried this in real life, walking with backpacks, riding, travelling with coaches, through different kinds of landscape. Now I would see for myself, if their findings were accurate. I felt a huge silly smile spreading on my face. Only yesterday I had sat in my tiny kitchen, moping because I did not have the money to spend a long holiday in a foreign country, enjoying sun and fun away from the city. And now I was here!

If the game continued to work so well, I could see decreasing income for travel agencies in the future.

I put the map back into the backpack and went down to the guest room to see about getting some breakfast. "Some breakfast" turned out to be a lavish affair; everything anyone could ever hope to get for a rural English breakfast. I stopped stuffing myself only just in time, thinking about the miles I planned to walk today.

The thought of miles made me consider the state of my provisions. Tonight I could get a room at the Forsaken Inn, but then I would be in the wilderness for almost two weeks. A bit of bread and cheese, and a few apples would not last that long. And up until now my bodily functions had not deviated in any way from real life. I did not think this gaming holiday would remain fun with my stomach churning hungrily.

I caught Bob by the arm and asked him about getting supplies for two weeks.

"Two weeks? Where are you heading?" The hobbit looked at me with his eyes filled with curiosity.

"I am taking the Great East Road; I want to have a look at this secret valley of the Elves, Rivendell, at the foot of the Misty Mountains." I answered. With no black riders there was no reason to keep my intentions secret, after all.

"But that's a creepy place!" The hobbit appeared frightened.

"I don't think so," I frowned at him. "You don't believe that crap that elves are demons, do you?"

"No, no, of course not," Bob quickly shook his head. "They was strange folk alright. But now they are gone." Gone. He looked somehow sad, when he said that. I had never considered how it would be, for a world such as Middle-earth, to be forsaken by the beings closest to magic and light imaginable.

"Well, can I buy supplies here for two weeks of walking?" I asked, returning to my original question.

"But of course", the hobbit stood a few inches taller. "The Prancing Pony takes pride in offering everything a traveller could want, be he on foot or riding, or travelling by coach. I will see to it at once. Everything should be ready within an hour."

And off he went.

A matter of pride? I hoped I had enough money in my pocket for this enterprise.

I had enough money, and left the Prancing Pony at 9 o'clock in the morning with my backpack a good deal heavier than it had been before. Probably about twenty kilograms. I suddenly remembered why I had always refused to accompany my brother on his various trekking tours. Oh, well. The comforting thought was that the backpack would grow a little bit lighter each day.

I had got myself a nice walking stick with its tip carved into the head of a pony as a souvenir, and as I left Bree through the South Gate some twenty minutes after I had said good-bye to Mrs. Butterbur, I felt like a real ranger.

The road did not really look like a road to my twenty-first century eyes. It was more like a country lane, an rutted stretch of dry mud, which looked as if it turned into a stream of sludge when it rained. However, it was much more comfortable for my feet to walk on this than on modern tarred roads.

On leaving Bree, the road led towards a deciduous forest with many old chestnut trees, the Chetwood. After walking barely an hour along Bree-hill with its many houses and holes, I reached the trees of the Chetwood. By then their cool shadow was very welcome, because the day was just as bright and beautiful as the day before, and a good deal warmer. Sun and fun. A slight breeze kept moving the leaves and cooling my sweaty face, so I enjoyed walking under the big branches of the old trees, listening to their whispering leaves even though my backpack was quite heavy.

At noon I rested in a little clearing just off the road, eating ham and egg sandwiches from the package labelled "today" and stowed at the top of my pack. In the bottle attached to my pack I discovered cider, which had miraculously stayed quite cool. I stretched out in the grass, looking at the swaying branches and chestnut leaves above me and felt absolutely blissful. The knowledge that this was only a game lasting a few hours seemed to become more and more unreal. This was the holiday I had longed for, and I thoroughly enjoyed it. The sun glinting through the canopy of leaves, the changing patterns of light and shadow on the grass … I dozed off.

After half an hour I came awake, feeling refreshed and eager to move on. I shouldered my backpack, took up my staff and went back on the road. The road continued through the forest for the better part of the afternoon. After about three hours, probably around five o'clock, I started to get tired again. The road turned slightly to the South-east, and suddenly the wood opened onto a landscape of grassy plains and soft sloping hills to the South and marshy plains with the sudden glittering of water in the sun to the North-east, with forbidding looking barren ridges rising in the distance. The soft, round hills to the South had to be the southern slopes of the Barrow-downs. The flat country with the glimpses of water had to be the Midgewater Marshes, which would make the peaks to the North-east the Weather Hills.

I decided to take a break and sat down with my back to a tall tree, surveying the countryside. Everything looked so real, this could almost be somewhere in Europe, apart from the fact that you hardly can find an area of this size without at least two villages visible, and several roads.

Tolkien's Middle-earth had been sparsely populated at the end of the third age. Apparently the programmers had not changed this for the game. My, but this wide and silent country was soothing to my eyes. I fished for the package with today's supplies and took out an apple and an oatmeal cookie. Just the thing.

Even without any action, this was a great game, I thought. But I would not mind at all meeting Elrond's sons. How would they look? Would they have chosen actors looking a bit like the Elrond of the movies to visualize the twins? As elves they simply had to be extremely handsome. Hmm … hmm … I shook my head at my silliness. I told myself not even to think of something like that and decided to get going again. I guessed that I would have to walk for another three hours to get to the Forsaken Inn.

The walking acquired a soothing, regular rhythm. It was easier to walk here in this artificial world than it had been in the real world. Succumbing to the rhythm and the easy motion, I felt my thoughts empty of the worries and fretting of the last few weeks. I just kept on walking, and, here and now, that was enough.

The Forsaken Inn was a good deal smaller than the Prancing Pony. It was a thatched house, a stable and a barn crouching south of the road, sheltered by a row of tall grey poplar trees. Nevertheless, the small room I was led to was clean, and the stew I had for dinner was rich and tasty. There were only a few other guests, three dwarves and five travellers, who had crossed the Misty Mountains on a trading mission. I enjoyed a quiet evening with a mug of very good dark beer and turned in early. I wanted to make an early start and try to get past the Midgewater Marshes in one day. I doubted I was up to the necessary speed, but those marshes had left a bad impression both from the book and from the movies. I wondered if the computer freaks had left out biting midges.. Somehow I did not think so. Up until now every little detail – down to my sore feet – had been extremely life like.

I slept like a log and did not dream. I woke with the first light and was delighted that I would be able to get away early. The breakfast was not quite as sumptuous as it had been in the Prancing Pony, but there were still ham and eggs and warm, freshly baked brown bread and a fragrant, golden tea. I paid my bill and was on the road at seven o'clock. As I was walking away towards the East, I realized that from now on I would have to measure time with the sun and the moon and the stars, as I had no watch. I grinned. The first time I got reacquainted with the natural passage of time since the age of four when I had learned to read the time and had been presented with my first watch. Even if none of this was real, it was still great! No deadlines, no meetings, no looking for another job, no holiday with dinner dates and movie times and trains I should not miss and schedules for dancing lessons.

What a treat!

From the position of the sun I guessed the time at ten, when I took my first break, some seven or eight miles from the Forsaken Inn. The day was just as beautiful as the day before, only some fluffy white clouds drifting leisurely across a lovely blue summer's sky and a light breeze keeping the day from getting too hot for walking. I had a tomato and a cheese sandwich left from the first day on the road. With some mouthfuls of cider from my refilled bottle, I felt very comfortable indeed.

I felt like walking again after only half an hour.

The ground stayed level and I made good speed, or at least I felt I did. With no signs indicating the distance I had walked and no watch to tell the exact time, it was difficult to tell. Nevertheless I felt quite accomplished, when I stopped at noon.

I had reached the Midgewater Marshes. And, unlike the book and the movies, they were not at all gloomy and disgusting, but a wide, melancholy spread of marshland and pools with reed and rushes. Above the water midges and flies were dancing in the sunshine like silvery clouds. It reminded me of some areas in Scotland I had visited with friends. But I stayed on the road for my lunch, as I did not wish to risk sinking into any wet and muddy hole. In the heat of the early afternoon going was much slower than it had been during the morning. My backpack felt heavy, its straps cutting into my shoulder and my feet were hot and itchy. I plodded on, my mind returning to the mess my life had turned in real life.

No job, no lover, and no idea at all what to do next …

And a flat with a steep rent and insurance and stuff to be paid each month. I could go back to university, I thought. Perhaps one of the larger state colleges would hire me as an assistant professor. Then I would at least be entitled to have an opinion on every topic under the sun. But I did not really have the patience necessary for teaching, and the bureaucracy one had to endure working for the government, even in its version of the Local Education Authorities, was not really my thing. Better than not being able to pay the rent, however …

Perhaps I could call my old university on Monday and see if they had a vacancy.

Monday … I thought, rubbing my sleeve across my sweaty forehead. It was hard to believe that only a few hours had passed in the real world with me trudging across Middle-earth for three days now. It was almost hard to believe that there was a real world beside this one. I swatted a midge aside. Ouch! That had stung! Why in hell did they have to have realistically biting midges in a computer game? This was ridiculous. I would suggest skipping at least this detail, when I had had enough of this game.

When the sun was sinking towards the West, I took another break. Too tired to eat anything, I only drank the last bit of cider in my bottle. Tomorrow I would have to do with water from one of those pools. I cast a suspicious look at the murky surface of a pool next to the road. I would make sure to boil the water tonight. With real live midges biting me I did not want to test if those computer freaks had programmed getting sick with diarrhoea. No, I would make some peppermint tea tonight and fill my bottle with that.

I walked for another two or three hours and realized I would have to camp next to the marshes for the night. I gathered wood from the bushes growing along the road and was happy to see that my skills with flint and tinder had made it into the game. Soon I had a lovely, fragrant fire burning, which improved the already magical atmosphere beyond belief and kept those midges away. I prepared my dinner, cheese omlette made from egg powder with brown bread, an apple and peppermint tea. It worked quite well; the resultant mess was tasty and filling, anyway. I remained sitting at the fire and meditating on the beauty of the flames in the dark of the summer night for an hour or two, then I stripped down to my underwear, washed myself with the cool water of a pool nearby and crawled into my sleeping bag. I lay watching the dying flames and listening to an immense orchestra of cicadas until I fell asleep.

In the morning I woke early, roused by a noisy choir of birds singing to the morning sun. I was stiff and sore, and sometime during the night the midges had found me, and those stings itched horribly. I made myself some porridge and drank a cup of the cool peppermint tea, then started walking again. I did not mind the cicadas, actually I thought their chirp-chirrup quite romantic, but I did mind those horrible midges. I would not spend another night being eaten alive by virtual midges.

At noon I sat at the edge of a big pool next to the road talking to the midges, which were trying not only to eat me, but to get eaten along with my lunch of salami and brown bread.

"You ugly, horrible gits," I told them. "You don't taste half as nice as I do, get away from me and my lunch!" But the stupid beasts did not listen and I ended up inhaling several and coughing for half an hour.

Today there were more clouds in the sky, and the wind was cooler. I did not mind, because this improved my speed. I left the Midgewater Marshes behind me and camped in a hollow surrounded by gorse bushes, perhaps eight miles from the edge of the bogs and marshes with their myriad midges. The cicadas were still there, and I had the most romantic evening listening to their music and watching the stars.

The next day I was getting closer and closer to the Weather Hills, but did not quite reach Weathertop. I spent the night in a bed of soft grass perhaps ten miles west of Amon Sûl. But the dark shape of Weathertop was clearly visible even in the night, rising to a thousand feet above the plains of the surrounding lowlands. I could not, however discern the remnants of the tower, which had been recognizable in the movies. I thought about climbing Amon Sûl, but the thought of the horrible things that had happened there made me feel uneasy.

In the end I did not climb Amon Sûl, but spent the night at its eastern foot. The next day took me to the Lone-lands east of Weathertop, and the weather turned as if on cue. The sky was grey and the wind was cool, the sun invisible. The Lone-lands were empty and lonely plains stretching from Amon Sûl to the river Hoarwell ,or Mitheithel, seventy miles to the south. It was almost level country, with only the slightest slopes built up by wind driven soil throughout the centuries. Walking, therefore, remained easy.

Centuries! I slapped my forehead with my open palm. This was a landscape programmed in hours of painstaking work, not accumulated by forces of nature within millennia. I was losing my feeling for reality. Perhaps this game was, even without an action packed adventure, much more dangerous than I had thought?

At noon the sixth day after my camp at the foot of Amon Sûl, I reached the Last Bridge.

Although I had more than once contemplated ending the game, the soothing feeling of walking all day and sleeping under the stars had made me go on. Even though I kept telling myself that the days were only minutes in the real world, my sense of the life I had left to test this game was fading.

The large, stoutly built stone bridge with three great arches was at the bottom of a short precipitous incline. . The Mitheithel was indeed a river of grey water rushing to the South with great force. I stood at the railing of the bridge for a long moment and gazed into the cold grey flood swirling against the arches. But for me there was no Elvish jewel lying in the mud of the bridge and so I continued on the narrowing road, which led into the wooded hill country of Rhudaur. The road was fairly straight leading toward the river Bruinen, but the going was becoming more difficult and much slower, climbing up and down steadily rising hills. But the weather stayed cool and the sky was overcast with grey clouds obscuring the peaks of the Misty Mountains. Yet it did not rain and I made good speed in spite of the demanding terrain.

The fifth day the road started to wind and roll as it approached the river Bruinen, whose rushing, watery voice could be heard through the trees even though it was four or five miles in the distance. Loudwater, I thought, now I understand where this name comes from. The slopes on either side of the road were obscured by thickets of hazel and bilberry brushes. Violet blooming heather at the edges of the road smelled of summer. The sun was shining again and I felt exhilarated. Soon I would reach Rivendell, Imladris!

On the sixth morning after I had crossed the Last Bridge I came to the Ford of Bruinen. It was the way the book had described it. The road went down a long easy slope with grassy clearings at the edges, and then it suddenly entered a tunnel made of dark pine trees, only to lead into a narrow ravine of brilliantly red rock. When I finally stepped out of the gorge , I saw the Ford of Rivendell glittering in the sunshine about a mile in the distance. On the other side of the silver river an earthy brown bank rose steeply and behind it the Misty Mountains loomed, with their gleaming white peaks today clearly visible and defying their name. I walked towards the river and looked at the ford apprehensively. 'Ford' means a place where the water is sufficiently shallow to be crossed without danger. The water was shallow. I could see broad stepping stones set at comfortable intervals leading to the other side only lightly lapped over by the stream. But the river was still flowing fast and strong, the water icy with the cold from the glaciers where it had its source, and the stones looked quite slippery.

I inhaled deeply and rubbed my hands together. No time like this time. Let's get it over with. No crossing the ford, no Rivendell. And I did not have enough food left to turn back.

"I only hope those sons of Elrond are really here, or I will have to return to the real world … or starve." I muttered to myself. Starve … Well, that could not possibly happen anyway, as it was only a game … but I did want to see Rivendell as a reward for trudging through the country for two weeks. Although I did have to give my brother credit; he had been right that this trekking-business was a really good holiday. I felt relaxed, as if I had really been away from it all for weeks and not only minutes.

Okay, now: first step. God, that's cold! I screamed at the shock of the icy water swirling around my bare ankles. I had tied my shoes and socks to the backpack, not wanting them to get wet. Next step. I slipped, but steadied myself with my walking stick before I fell into the water. My heart pounding I remained frozen in place for a moment, before carefully stepping onto the next stone. And the next. On the fifth stone I stubbed my right toes painfully and swore evilly. Then I was across the river, slumping down on the brown banks, gasping for air. My feet were bright red from the cold water. I rubbed them dry with the smaller of my two towels, which had acquired a grubby grey colour on the way.

At least I was wide awake again, all fatigue from the morning hike dispelled.

Now all I had to do was to find the path down into the valley of Rivendell.

**oooOooo**

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Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed this chapter.

Yours  
JunoMagic


	6. Rivendell

**A/N:** I use Sindarin according to the wonderful grammar and dictionary of the Elvish tongues by Helmut W. Pesch, but I am no linguist, so please forgive any mistakes.

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**oooOooo**

**6. Rivendell**

I put on my socks and shoes and climbed the narrow trail leading up the banks of the Bruinen.

The path turned into a dark forest of pine trees and then climbed steeply up again through a narrow ravine between cleft and cracked rock faces, which rose almost vertically in barren crags grown with twisted and gnarled mountain pines, only just maintaining their precarious toe-hold among the rocks. Finally I emerged from the gorge on a small plateau looking across a deep valley cutting through the wild and rugged moors of the foothills of the Misty Mountains.

At once I felt a sense of an almost unnatural peace and quiet envelop me.

The steep mountainsides around the sheltered valley were grown with dark and deep pine woods, but the valley itself was green with a more Southern vegetation. The Bruinen rushed in many silver falls down to the bottom of the valley. Any buildings I might be able to see from my vantage point were lost in the silvery mists of the waterfalls. The spray of the cascades created a humid atmosphere in which lush green ferns and bright colourful flowers flourished. I was looking at an oasis of spring in the autumn of the harsh climate of moors and mountains.

Feeling my heart beat faster with the excitement of seeing the beautiful buildings of the Rivendell of the movies up close, I started down the trail under the dark and fragrant shadows of the pine trees.

Would anybody still be here?

I shook my head at my stupid thoughts. The game was obviously flawed. While the landscape was brilliant and I had been having a really good holiday, the story was not running. There would be no one here. I would stay for a day or so to roam the valley and feel like an Elven queen, but then I would use that switch and return to reality. They really needed to put in some work before they could hit the market with this game. But - I smiled up at the branches of the pines and firs above me, inhaling the fresh forest air, tasting its clear and spicy quality like wine on my tongue - if they got this story trouble straightened out, no one would want to stay in real life anymore.

After endless turns leading in narrow serpentines down the mountainside, I finally stepped out of the gloom of the forest into bright sunshine. I was at the very bottom of the valley. In front of me grassy slopes and meadows gleamed in deep green hues reminding me of precious jewels. The path I had been following led through the meadows to the river and across it on a delicate white bridge of slender arches carved with flowing designs reminiscent of art nouveau. Carefully trimmed weeping willows echoed the soft lines of the bridge's architecture with their swaying lithe branches.

On both sides of the river many buildings climbed up the sides of the valley, with terraces and balconies and gardens set between them, halls and towers and cloisters on different levels following the natural rising of the ground, at times carved into the rock of the mountain itself. In the air above a singing waterfall, tumbling down between two terraces blooming with red flowers, a rainbow was drifting, the rays of the sun breaking into blue, violet, red, yellow and green colours shimmering in the misty spray of the falling water.

I stared at in wonder at the beauty of Imladris, almost forgetting to breathe. This was not a house, this was a palace, and I would not call it homely. It was of an exquisite loveliness and an artfulness, which transcended mere mortal efforts at architecture and gardening. For the first time I had an inkling of what Elvish could mean.

But it was absolutely quiet.

The only sound was the rushing of the Bruinen from its spring high up above in the glaciers, the wind in the trees and the song of many birds delighting in the sunshine. There was no sign of anyone living in these summer palaces. Indeed, as I narrowed my eyes to discern more details, I saw many closed shutters and no sparkle of windowpanes in the sunlight at all.

I began walking towards the Last Homely House east of the sea with apprehension growing in my heart. I tried to tell myself that it was only a game, but the beauty of this place and its loneliness touched something deep inside of me. The sadness I had always felt at the ending of the books was tangible here among those empty palaces, a deep feeling of sorrow casting dark shadows even in the brightest light of the summer sun.

I climbed broad white stairs to a terrace in front of a great hall. The access to the hall was a large gate of dark wood inlaid with golden designs, the stone arches above it carved with flowers and leaves, almost like the tympanum of a cathedral. I tried to open it, but it was barred. I sighed and turned around. On the other side of the terrace a slender white staircase led up to another set of buildings closer to the river. I would try to get to the terrace with the rainbow, I decided. Even if I did not find a treasure at the end of the rainbow, I would surely have a lovely view of the palaces of Imladris and the valley. As I climbed the stairs, I noticed signs of neglect and wear. Weeds were growing from the crevices between the white stones, some of the stairs were cracked and in the edges dust and dry leaves had accumulated into small heaps of debris.

The stairs led to a narrow corridor between two buildings. There were two doors with rounded tops set across from each other. I tried to open them, but they were locked, too. I followed the corridor around the next corner and found myself on the terraced garden I had seen from below. Between the cracked tiles, of smooth cream coloured stone streaked with red, grass was growing and the rose bushes desperately needed a trim. They were blooming in abundance nevertheless, and as I walked to the balustrade, I was enveloped in their sweet, summery perfume. Ten feet below the river plunged in a silver arc into a pool on a lower garden and another terrace. The spray from the cascades touched my hot cheeks in a cooling mist.

I closed my eyes for a moment to enjoy the sensation.

_"Dan ech-tollen! Ma phaid ech-pannen, Elladan?"_ a dark voice called out to me. _You have come back! Which paths have you walked, Elladan? _

I jumped, almost swallowing my heart with fright. I turned around and blinked in surprise.

I was looking at a pair of the clearest grey eyes I had ever seen. They were very bright and keen, like beryl come alive. They were set under dark slanting brows in a pale face without any trace of facial hair. The cheeks? almost chiselled in cool, clear angles, reminded me of carved marble statues of angels I had seen in a museum once. His sensual lips were touched by a hint of red, slim and straight, but there was no smile tugging at their corners. The nose was straight, thin and a bit arrogant. Long, dark, almost black hair flowed down his shoulders and his back. Between the dark tresses I caught a glimpse of pointed ears as pearly white as his face.

I stared at the Elf in front of me and did not know what to say.

"Who are you?" the Elf finally asked me, when he had recovered from the same surprise that had me staring at him with my mouth open.

I closed my mouth and swallowed. He was speaking English or Westron now. Although I had understood his Sindarin words, and knew I could respond in Sindarin, I felt more comfortable answering in English.

"My name is Jarro. I am a ranger of the North. I came to Rivendell to see if it was true that all the Elves have left the shores of Middle-earth." My heart was pounding with excitement. He frowned, and his eyes flashed, looking me up and down. For a moment I had the uncomfortable feeling that he could see through me like Neo in the Matrix and only saw rows of green figures rippling in the void.

"There are no more rangers in the North." His voice was calm and cool.

A feeling of shock was spreading from my stomach. What was I to say?

"Well, I am. Or at least, a traveller from the North, if you prefer a humbler title." I swallowed. "And you are obviously an Elf. May I ask your name?"

His eyes darkened slightly. I had the feeling he was not convinced by my explanation, but had decided to let it rest at that for the moment. When he answered, his voice was darker, too, a little bit husky, and tinged with worry.

"I am indeed an Elf. My name is Elrohir, son of Elrond-Peredhil and Celebrían of Lorien. Master of Imladris." At giving the last title a hint of sarcastic smile played across his lips.

"Is anyone else here?" I asked, before realizing that this was perhaps not a polite question.

"No," he answered, and his voice betrayed a certain tension. " I am … almost the last one here. They have gone across the Sundering Seas to reach the white shores of Aman, the Blessed Realm and home of our souls."

I stared at him, standing in his grey robes among the fading beauty of Imladris and felt sudden tears burning in my eyes. "You have to be very lonely."

His gaze, all at once very fierce, seemed to penetrate my mind, laying open the depths of my soul. "No more lonely than you are, my lady."

I shuddered, caught in the power of his spell. Then the feeling was gone, and I could hear the rushing of the Bruinen again, splashing across the rocks behind me.

"Where is your brother? Were you expecting him?" My curiosity was back.

He frowned at me. "How do you know that I am waiting for a brother?"

_"Uh …"_ I felt heat flood my face. I cleared my throat. "Elladan is a name for a man, isn't it? And for some reason I didn't have the feeling that you were waiting for a servant, or your father."

A shadow passed across Elrohir's face. He shook his head. "You are right. I am waiting for my brother. He should be back any day now." He paused, then flashed a wry, almost sad smile. "Had you come here but a few days later, you might have found that all elves had gone from Middle-earth. We, too, have to leave the shores of Arda. We have already lingered far too long. The choice of the Valar is almost upon us …" The last words he whispered, they were barely audible with the sound of the waterfall behind me.

Then he seemed to shake himself free of his concerns and smiled at me politely. "Your quest, my lady ranger, was successful. You have found one of the two last Elves in Middle-earth. Until we depart, may I offer you what hospitality remains in the Last Homely House east of the Sea?"

I inclined my head, hopefully in gracious motion. "That would be lovely, my Lord Elrohir."

"Make that only Elrohir, my lady. There is no court left here to require such formalities."

I smiled at him. "Then you have to dispense with calling me 'my lady'. It's Jarro, please."

He grinned at me, looking suddenly very young. "Then Jarro it is. Please, follow me. You have to be tired and hungry. The last Homely House has always been praised for its hospitality. And so shall it be unto its last day. I would not fail my father's trust during my last days here."

He led me to a door leading out to the rose garden and opened it easily. Inside was a cool, shadowy room, completely empty of furniture. "Most things went with the last party of Elves travelling from Imladris to the Havens. My brother and I have been using a few rooms at the very top. They offer the most magnificent view of the valley. But I am afraid it is quite a climb."

I shrugged. "That's all right; it was quite a climb to get into Rivendell at all."

"Then by all means follow me."

He turned around and swiftly made his way through a dark archway into a dusky corridor and then up a winding stair lit from small window slits set in the outer wall. The Elf moved with unbelievable grace. His silken robes gave only the slightest rustling sound, and he seemed to glide, rather than walk in the confined space of the staircase.His dark hair reached almost to his hips, flowing in waves of silky twilight and leaving a spicy scent drifting behind him.

I hurried to keep up, my thoughts racing in tight circles. This was so unbelievably real, he felt so unbelievably real, and not at all human! How could anyone program an entirely different race with this kind of accuracy? If someone had told me about this, I would never have believed a single word!

Finally we reached the end of the stairs and stepped into a corridor bright with sunlight flooding from graceful arcs of windows. The corridor opened into a hall with a ceiling of ribbed vaults supported by slender twisted columns. Large windows of clear glass, reaching from the floor to the ceiling, looked out across the valley, and from somewhere to the right I heard the muted noise of water. At the back of the room was a large fireplace, and there were a few arm chairs and chaise longues facing either to the fireplace or to the windows with some small tables set between them. The wall opposite the corridor through which we had entered was taken up by shelves crammed with books, which lined the entire wall from the floor to the ceiling, surrounding the opening of another door leading into a room beyond. I thought I could see a huge desk and more shelves there.

"This is very beautiful," I said, looking at Elrohir, who had patiently waited for me to take in the view. He smiled, but his smile did not reach his eyes.

"Please, sit down; I will get you a drink. And then I will leave you for a moment to get a room ready. It's been some time since we had a guest here. Would you like wine, or water, or juice?" He moved to a table circling one of the columns, where several jugs, bottles and glasses were arrayed.

"Water will be fine, _hantale_," I answered and let my backpack slide to the floor with a muffled thump.

Elrohir looked up in amazement at my use of the formal Quenyan "Thank you". "You know the Elvish tongues?"

I nodded. "_Mîn egor tâd phith._ One or two words. But my grammar is atrocious. I learned from books. There is no one left to speak Elvish." I grinned at him. "Well, almost no one, as I now know."

He smiled at me, and this time his smile was filled with real warmth. "It is good to hear our language spoken by a guest. _Mae govannen_, Jarro." He offered me a beaker with water. I accepted gratefully.

"I will be back in a moment. Rest a bit and enjoy the view."

With that he was gone, leaving me to stare out of the window. My heart was racing, and my stomach was fluttering. I slumped down in one of the easy chairs, twirling the beaker in my fingers, asking myself how it was possible to feel absolutely real, physical attraction for someone who was neither human and nor real.

I drank the water and enjoyed the cool liquid running down my throat. I put the beaker down on a small table at the side of the chair I was sitting on. Even though the room was sparsely furnished and the furniture was obviously ancient, everything was clean and polished, very well preserved. In the quiet minutes of waiting, my heart calmed down again and I breathed easier. It's only a game, Jarro, I told myself. Enjoy it while it lasts. Tomorrow you will be back to looking for another miserable job paying for your miserable tiny flat in a huge, noisy, dirty city, which never sleeps, where you can only dream of this kind of quiet or this kind of clean, soft air. Not to mention handsome Elves with beautiful grey eyes…

I had not heard Elrohir return to the room, but suddenly felt his presence behind me.

I turned around, and my breath caught in my throat, as I saw the clear, shining profile of his Elvish face in a ray of sunshine slanting through the window. He crossed the room and poured a pale golden wine into a crystal goblet. "A room is ready for you, my – Jarro. Would you care for a glass of wine? It's a Lindon white, one of the few bottles remaining. I can assure you there is no better wine left in all of Arda."

"Thank you - that would be lovely."

My eyes followed involuntarily the graceful movements of his hands. I only resurfaced from my musings, when I felt the cool glass pressed into my fingers. My heart racing I looked up into bright grey eyes sparkling with faint amusement. He sat down opposite me and reclined in an elegant chaise longue, lifting his glass.

I frowned at him, but raised my glass all the same. "Slainte!" I said, as I had no clue what Elves might say for 'cheers'.

He smiled at me. _"Almare."_

The pale golden liquid tasted of summer, golden sunny days liquefied with a hint of vanilla and lemon fruit. I swirled the wine around in my mouth, then let it run down my throat, enjoying the way it prickled against my palate.

"Where _is_ your brother?" I asked abruptly, never taking the time to think before speaking and regretting it immediately, when I saw Elrohir's eyes cloud with anxiety.

"I don't know where he is," he answered, his voice husky. I could see his slender fingers grip his goblet tighter. "He … we … When it became clear that we must finally decide where to turn, to stay here in Arda, in Middle-earth and live a human life, or leave for Aman to rejoin our people for all eternity … you may not know it, but as our father was Half-elven, we may claim either part of our heritage to decide our destiny. We can decide our fate, choosing a mortal life or living on as immortal Elves. After the war –" He paused, looking at me inquiringly, "you do know about the war, do you? In the human realms so many things are forgotten in such a short time that it is difficult to keep up with what knowledge now remains of the ages past."

I cleared my throat, forcing my voice to sound light. "I know about the War of the Rings, yes."

He nodded, apparently pleased that this story had not yet been forgotten, and continued. "We stayed here to help King Elessar rebuild his realm, even though most of our people had left. He was our brother, our closest friend. How could we go and leave him in the wake of such a terrible war?"

He was staring off into a distant time and place. When he spoke again, his voice sounded sorrowful and weary. "And when he died, and our sister died, too, how could we leave their children all on their own? But centuries have passed now, and those times are no longer alive in the memories of most mortals. My brother and I are all who remain in Arda of the firstborn. And the Valar have finally issued their call. A ship is waiting at Dol Amroth to bear us into the West."

I barely dared to breathe, caught up in his tale as I was. I felt an incomprehensible sense of grief surrounding the Elf. Elrohir sighed. Then he smiled sadly and forced his attention back to me and the present.

"Elladan … he could not decide at once. He said he needed time to think and went off, hiking into the Misty Mountains, and perhaps walking far from them, trying to find an answer to his questions."

He sighed and rubbed at his temples with his fingertips. "He should have been back a long time ago."

"Are you worried that something has happened to him?" I dared to ask, speaking softly.

He looked up, and his face was suddenly very white. I saw his jaw muscles tighten. He swallowed hard and his eyes turned almost black. "Yes, I am worried. And time is running short."

"The ship …" I trailed off, but when he nodded, I continued. "Is there a deadline or something? A certain time you have to keep?"

"Yes," he sighed. "If we want to depart, we have to sail before the winter solstice."

"Well," I said, "then there is enough time to find him. When do we leave?"

"Why would you come with me?" Elrohir asked, astonishment apparent in his voice.

I swallowed, realizing that I might spend a lot of time locked in the matrix of this game if I intended to roam through Middle-earth until December, searching high and low for a lost Elf. But I remembered the slightly conceited tone of the computer freak called Mr. Smith _"You could spend years in this game, and it would only be an afternoon in the real world"_. It had worked so far, I thought, after all I had already spent more than two weeks in this game. Why not add three more months? Why not put the game to a real test – especially now that an interesting plot had finally surfaced? After all, there was nothing in my real life that was very attractive at the moment. And if I was fed up with the game, I could go off in a corner any time, produce the box with the magic switch and go back to reality and dinner with the nice doctor.

I looked up at the Elf and answered, trying to keep my voice as firm and noble as Haldir in the second part of the movies. "Once there existed great friendship between you and the rangers of the North. What could I do but honour this friendship of old? If your brother can be found, we will find him."


	7. Where to?

**7. Where to?**

Even if I had not reached the tragic quality of Haldir's speech of the movies, it was convincing enough to make Elrohir smile at me again, the shadows of his fears passing from his noble features.

"Perhaps," I asked, "if you have some maps to show me where you think he might have gone? Just to give me a sense of direction? Where we head first?"

Elrohir nodded and rose from his couch. "In my study."

He pointed to the door between the bookshelves. The study was a comparatively small room with an arched window looking towards the west, across the waterfall. Shelves lined the walls, and in the middle of the room two desks set face to face. A chandelier bore many white candles to light the room after nightfall. On a small table in front of the window a small wooden chest with star shaped golden designs gleamed in the sunlight streaming through the window. Elrohir, following my gaze, explained what it was. "This is a _tannartelenion_, a star chest. It belongs to the ship waiting for us at Dol Amroth. It contains the charts necessary to sail across the seas and pass the mists of time to reach Aman." I looked at the precious chest and felt somehow choked. I walked over to the chest and traced my fingers across the smooth, sun warmed wood.

"It is very beautiful," I said. But I felt like crying. Why had anyone programmed a game with this sad story? No real LOTR-fan would ever want to experience this – all elves leaving Middle-earth. "You said something about maps," I added, resolutely turning my back on the _tannartelenion_.

"Indeed I did." Elrohir had pulled a stack of documents and rolls of parchment out of a drawer. He chose one of the rolls and opened it up on one of the desks, using beautiful paperweights made of glass to hold down the corners of the parchment. "We are here – Imladris – Rivendell –" He pointed. I nodded. The map was larger than my own, but the two maps seemed to correspond. "Elladan like hiking. I believe he followed the Misty Mountains to the north, at least for a time. Then he might have turned to the east, heading into Mirkwood. Although even the Silvan Elves have sailed for Aman, the land still retains traces of our … spirit. It calls to us. Where he might have gone from there, I have no idea. Perhaps he is still there."

I bent across the map. There were many lands on this map stretching to the east of Dale, which I had never noticed on the maps in the books. "And if he has gone further than that? Where might he have gone from there?"

Elrohir sighed. "Perhaps to Dale. The men and the dwarves there were friendly with Elven kind after the end of the third age. Or perhaps further still, into the Eastern lands, to the Sea of Rhûn, or –" He halted, his slender fingers stopping at the inland sea marked as the Sea of Rhûn.

"Or?" I prompted, noticing the shadow of a memory in his eyes.

Elrohir looked up, and his eyes were very dark again, a colour I recognized by now as an indication of anxiety and worry. "He – he – always wanted to cross Middle-earth to its Eastern shores. He wanted to see what lay beyond. He spoke of the lands of the morning sun, where neither the Valar nor the Shadow had ever walked."

I raised my eyebrows, following the line he was tracing across the expanse of the map. East of the Sea of Rhûn the map was pretty much white, indicating wild and unexplored lands, ending at an indication of an Eastern shore line sketched only in a broken line, showing that the accuracy of the map was not confirmed for this area. I whistled softly. "This looks like an enormous distance."

"Two thousand miles, give or take." He shrugged - it was so far that a hundred miles more or less would make not much of a difference.

I looked up at Elrohir and frowned. "When did he leave?"

Elrohir sighed, his fingers tracing and retracing the Eastern shore line. "Five months ago," he finally said.

"Then there won't be any traces left of where he went. Not even your sharp Elvish eyes will be able to detect where he walked." I made it a statement, secretly hoping for a convincing contradiction.

"You are right. I can only guess where he went." Seeing the darkness in his eyes I bit on my lip and did not ask why in hell he had waited so long to go after his brother.

I sighed, looking again at the map and the vastness of the lands displayed there. Talk about searching for a needle in a haystack. "He could be anywhere. How will you be able to know if you head into the right direction?"

"My heart will tell me," Elrohir whispered. "I hope."

**ooo**

We decided to take the High Pass across the Misty Mountains, and then follow them to the north, hoping against all odds to find traces of Elladan's camps. Then we would turn into Mirkwood and head to the East, going to the Lonely Mountain and Dale, again, hoping against all odds, that someone had seen the solitary Elf travelling his lonely road into the East. We would continue on to Rhûn.

_And then …_ Elrohir had fallen silent, but I knew he would go the farthest shores of Middle-earth in the hope of finding a trace of his lost brother. If he did indeed go all the way across Arda, there would remain barely enough time to go back again across the wide expanse of the continent to be in time to sail for Aman. _A journey worthy of Ulysses himself,_ I thought. At least Elrohir's quest had a reasonable chance of a happy ending… not many orcs or other foul creatures remained in this day and age, and the mortal realms were at the moment relatively peaceful. Elladan had probably really only done, what he had wanted to do for a long time – acting out his Elvish mid-life crisis he had walked off the soles of his boots several times over and gone to see the Eastern Seas. The real risk was probably that the brothers would fail to meet somewhere in the middle of their travels.

Elrohir would leave a note in Rivendell telling his brother to take the _tannartelenion_ straight to Dol Amroth and wait there for him. He did not want to return to Rivendell again.I frowned at him, when he explained his intentions. But his eyes had darkened again to an almost black colour, and I did not need to ask why he would not return for the tannartelenion. If his brother did not sail for Aman, Elrohir would not, either.

I was not sure if he was choosing the right path with this decision, chaining his destiny to the fate of his brother – but who was I to argue with one of the last two Elves in Middle-earth? I was neither an Elf, nor did I know the close bond shared by identical twins, having only the one younger brother. And anyway, nothing of this set-up was real anyway, I told myself forcefully.

"But what is real, then?" Elrohir's voice broke into my thoughts.

"Did I say that out loud?" I asked, feeling an icy shiver of fear creeping up my spine.

"No," he said, his voice calm and comforting. "But you were thinking so very loudly I could not but hear your thoughts."

And how in hell could an Elf, who did not really exist, read my mind? I thought, as privately as I could manage.

"I often doubt what is real and what is only a figment of imagination, too," Elrohir went on. "Especially since I have been alone here in Rivendell. The stones of the buildings, the trees, the earth itself, contain traces of Elvish magic. Sometimes I can see visions of people who walked here, long ago. Faces and songs, smiles and tears lost in time."

His gaze was trained on some invisible object in the distance … a distance of time as well as of space. How would it feel to be all alone? Not only lonely and misunderstood, feelings I knew so very well, but really the last of your people remaining in a changing world. The only white person in an Africa belonging solely to its native peoples … or the only European in Japan … But it had to be even harder than that. He was not even mortal, after all. And we humans – black, white or Asian – shared our one precious and mortal life, after all.

"I am sorry," I said. And "sorry" felt woefully inadequate to express the sympathy I was feeling.  
But Elrohir smiled and all of a sudden he looked very young, not any older than I was.

"Thank you, my lady. Jarro. It is good to travel in the company of a ranger again."

I smiled back at him, and thought, very silently and deep down in my mind: if only you knew the truth; realizing at the same time the absurdity of this notion. Now that I had the adventure I had missed on my way to Rivendell, I discovered the risk of this venture. It was becoming increasingly difficult to hold on to the fact that this was only a game, and not real at all.

**ooo**

I had not many supplies left, but Rivendell's storerooms were still well stocked.

Elrohir spent the next morning accumulating different kinds of provisions. The most important item was a stack of thin loaves wrapped in large leaves and additionally tied in white linen bags. He offered me a piece of one of the thin cakes. I chewed it enthusiastically, and from an enticingly crunchy-crispy feeling it changed into a melting of different, spicy aromas on my tongue. And even the small bite seemed to fill my stomach just as much as a huge bowl of stew might have another day.

I grinned at Elrohir, suddenly realizing what this stuff had to be. "That's _lembas_, isn't it? Elvish waybread."

He looked at me surprised, but nodded his agreement. "It is. With this supply we can walk to the shores of the Eastern Seas and back without starving." That was a reassuring thought, although I felt sudden sympathy with the hobbits' feelings in the "Lord of the Rings"… going for weeks and weeks with nothing but lembas would probably make even sushi appealing. I sincerely hoped we would take some of the more usual provision with us and perhaps take the time to hunt or fish on our way. After all, even though we could not dawdle with this mid-winter deadline put out by the Valar, there were no black riders to pursue us. There should be enough time for the occasional rainbow trout or rabbit. I hoped. But I did not voice my doubts about six months of _lembas_ to Elrohir. I was rewarded for keeping my silence shortly afterwards, when Elrohir added hard cheese, flour and cereals, dried fruit, a powder to make soup with and other more human food stuffs to the lembas.

"Do you eat no meat at all?" I asked, when I noticed the absence of ham or sausages. That would certainly fit in with the ethereal image of Elves some fans portrayed in their stories I had read on the internet.

"No. The meat we will take is in another larder. You don't want to mix the aroma of meat and cheese in a storeroom," Elrohir explained, not even raising an eyebrow at yet another strange question. Finally the food we would take was divided between the two of us and packed in our respective backpacks. Elrohir had had a look over my stuff and pronounced it fit for travelling all over Middle-earth. The only addition he had to make was the gift of a long grey cloak, which fastened under my chin with a brooch shaped like a golden and green leaf.

"This is a travelling cloak made by my mother's people, the Galadhrim - the Elves, who used to live in Lothlorien. Wearing that cloak you will almost invisible to anyone not of Elvish blood."

Full of awe I stroked the soft, warm cloth, feeling its dense weaving and admiring the way it blended into the growing shadows of the evening.

"Thank you, that is a high honour indeed," I said, my voice trembling slightly.

Elrohir shrugged. "There is a chest full of them left here. And no one left to wear them. Better a friend should wear one, than that all of them be eaten by vermin in the centuries to come."

There was a definite tinge of bitterness in his voice.

**ooo**

We left Rivendell before sunrise on the next day.

We climbed a path, which led us above the buildings of the Last Homely House. The Bruinen was only a rivulet in a bed of smooth white tiles up here, easily crossed without even wetting our feet. The path wound its way further up the mountain, until it reached the entrance of a narrow ravine. I stopped and looked back at the valley. It looked very beautiful and peaceful in the first golden rays of the summer sun. Almost as if it were asleep. I wondered whether Imladris would ever be woken again to a life of singing and dancing. I sighed softly and blinked away tears, regretting that I had never seen Imladris full of life and probably never would. But Elrohir did not look back. He walked ahead of me into the ravine, his footsteps soft and sure.

He never returned to the place where he was born again.


	8. The Misty Mountains

**8. The Misty Mountains**

We emerged from the ravine on a mountain trail winding towards the east in many narrow turns and bends. Here nothing was left of the sheltered beauty of Imladris. Instead we faced a harsh rocky landscape of tough grey and brown grasses, scrawny dwarf pines, silver thistles and boulders covered with yellow and green lichens. Jagged mountain peaks with white glacial summits barely visible through clouds of mist and fog towered above us. A cold wind was blowing across the mountainsides. The only creatures I could see were black jackdaws and mountain crows. Their cawing, raucous cries echoed from the rocks and sent shivers down my spine.

Elrohir was unfazed by this gloomy atmosphere. He waited a moment until I had caught up with him.

"I have not seen any orcs in the Misty Mountains for more than a hundred years. But that does not mean that there aren't any left. And at the end of the Third Age there were one or two orc tunnels leading up to the High Pass. Keep your eyes open and your sword ready."

With that he strode on swiftly, leaving me a few paces behind him and hard put to keep up his pace. My heart pounded madly and I kept reaching for the hilt of my sword. I swallowed hard. Now I did not feel quite as proud about having a real sword at my belt. But three hundred years was a long time. Perhaps there weren't any orcs left. Without Sauron's power they might have dwindled and died, slowly becoming an extinct species, like dinosaurs on earth.

And anyway, it was only a game. Only a game. But a nasty little voice deep inside my mind kept whispering about programme errors and what kind of traps a sick computer freak would enjoy putting into a test run of a game. Action, probably. A lot of action. And up until now this had been a rather relaxing hiking holiday.

During my trek to Rivendell I had fancied myself quite the ranger, admiring how far I had been able to walk each day. Elrohir, however, had obviously a very different opinion on how far a ranger could walk a day and how much time should be spent resting than I had.

I did not complain. I kept silent and I kept up.

Get real, would you act like the ultimate Mary-Sue and ask the most handsome male creature you ever laid eyes on to slow down, because you – self-proclaimed ranger of the North – had blisters on your feet and only wanted to sit down? Surely not. I did not say a word and walked as fast as I could manage. Visions of orcs crouching behind the boulders on either side of the road sped me on well past what I thought my limit of endurance.

When I was tired enough to stumble every three steps, Elrohir finally slowed down.

"We did not get quite as far as I wanted to come today, but I can see that you are very tired. I think we should stay here for the night." He moved to the left of the trail and led me into a hollow below a huge boulder. A dark spot marked the bottom of the dell, a sign of many fires that had been lit there over the years. "Rangers and Elves have used this place for hundreds of years. We will be as safe here as we can possibly be."

I nodded mutely and slumped to the ground, too tired even to take off my backpack. I dozed off at once, and in my restless dreams I kept walking, looking at the ground before my feet, and watching my steps, losing myself in the rhythm.

**ooo**

Suddenly I jerked awake. A soft touch had scared me out of my dreams. My heart racing I stared wildly about me. A fire had been lit, and Elrohir knelt on the ground next to me. He had slid my pack off my back. His eyes were gleaming like grey stars in the light of the fire.

"I am sorry, I did not want to wake you. But you did not seem very comfortable with the backpack dragging you down."

I stretched and felt several kinks in my spine crack softly. I groaned. "I guess I am not a really good ranger."

Elrohir grinned at me. "But you did keep up."

I felt myself grinning back. "I did, didn't I?"

Suddenly I felt much more cheerful. Elrohir turned back to the fire, fiddling around with it to prevent it from giving off too much smoke, I guess. I bent down and took off my shoes and socks. _Ouch …_ that did not look pretty. Apparently my trip to Rivendell had been something of a Sunday's walk. I contemplated the raw flesh of the blisters at my feet. Tomorrow would be literally _bloody_ hell on two feet for me. I sighed. Could not be helped. Others had done stunts like this, so I could do it, too.

A fragrant smell tickled my nostrils and made me look up. Elrohir had suspended a kettle from three long branches crossed above the fire. Tea or something. The sweet and pungent fragrance was refreshing in itself and I inhaled it deeply, feeling the pain in my back recede, and the rugged beauty of the landscape returned to my eyes.

"This smells like heaven," I said. "What is it?"

Elrohir turned to me and favoured me with one of his penetrating stares. "It's _athelas_. In past ages all rangers knew about its healing powers."

I grimaced. This was why in real life none of those Mary-Sue stories floating around the internet would ever work. A normal twenty-first century person was not used to walking either the distance or keep up the kind of speed and Elf or a ranger needed. And even the most ferocious fan would not remember all the little details of every day life to make it as a Tenth Walker. And why did I have this absurd feeling that Elrohir knew exactly what and who I was? Damn it, the only one who was supposed to really know about things was me! This was _my_ game. And what the hell did anyone play at including bleeding blisters in a computer game. I stubbed my toe at a rock and moaned.

"The infusion is almost ready_,"_ Elrohir told me. "Your feet will be good as new, come morning." He was preparing an infusion for my feet? I felt the blood rushing to my cheeks. _F…_ I guess I could count myself lucky I had not decided to play the game as an Elf. Thinking about the blunders I would have made then did not bear thinking of. Increasing my embarrassment beyond bounds, Elrohir walked over and crouched at my feet.

"You should have told me to slow down."

He poured the hot infusion in a wooden bowl and mixed it with cool water from his bottle. The aroma was rousing me above my feeling of intense abashment. He tested the temperature of the mixture with his slender index-finger, and then gripped my left foot at the ankle, gently lifting it a few inches. He poured the warm herbal infusion slowly over my foot, carefully moistening the sore areas. I gasped, and then forced myself to relax under his ministrations, which was more than a little difficult. His warm, firm grip of my ankle released a host of butterflies in the pit of my stomach, and the way the _athelas_ took away the pain and soreness of my foot was pure bliss. Elrohir favoured me with a smile before he proceeded to the other foot. I found that almost couldn't breathe while looking into starlit Elven eyes. Afterwards I felt well enough to eat some supper and offer to take the first watch.

But Elrohir smiled again, shaking his head. "That won't be necessary. As I said, I have not seen any orcs in these mountains for more than a hundred years. And Elves can rest with our eyes open. You can sleep your human sleep without worrying."

"I knew you sleep with you eyes open," I said grumpily.

He looked at me thoughtfully. "Did you, now?"

What did I say now to rouse his suspicion? I suppressed a sudden mad impulse to tell him I had come into this story by the means of a computer and that for me all of this was only a game.  
I clenched my teeth and remained silent. I stayed sitting on my side of the fire and watched the Elf for quite some time. He was lying on his back propped up again a rock, his profile outlined by the fire. He was looking into the darkness, away from the fire, to keep the light from impairing his vision. He had braided his hair at the nape of his neck, which emphasized the elegant bone structure of his head. The tips of his ears appeared so white that they looked almost translucent. He looked absolutely alien, and yet much more than merely handsome. He was beautiful. And he was an Elf, whatever else he might be.

Watching Elrohir I finally drifted off to sleep, resuming our walk in my dreams, following narrow trails through steep mountains and dark forests until I was suddenly shaken awake. It was absolutely dark. The only light came from the myriad of stars blazing in the night sky. Elrohir was crouching next to me, covering my mouth with his hand to prevent any inadvertent noise.

_"Yrch!"_ he whispered into my ear.

_Yrch_.  
Orcs.

I was wide awake at once, adrenaline rushing through my veins, my heart thumping madly.  
Was there the hint of a foul and evil smell drifting to me from the darkness? Was that a sound of branch that should not have broken if it was moved only by the wind?

I felt the hilt of my sword shoved into my right hand.

"Ten_,"_ Elrohir whispered into my ear. "Hit them at the stomach or the throat with all the strength you have. Grip with both hands. We stay back to back as long as possible."

I felt him squeeze my hand and then he turned, putting his back against my back. I moved slowly, getting my legs under me, ready to jump up. My hands felt cold and clammy, my heart was racing somewhere in my throat.

A grunt, a thump, suddenly dark shapes moved towards us.

Glimpses of teeth and claws, green and yellow eyes glinted in the light of the stars.

One of the things jumped at me, and with an involuntary scream I swung up my sword. It connected with the body, the impact so hard it almost wrenched the sword from my grasp. But the monstrous shape kept coming, stinking hot breath on my cheeks.

A strength born of fear for my life made me lift my sword again and slash at the throat of the creature. It was an awkward angle, and I did not have much strength, but he did not expect this strike and suddenly a warm flood of stinking blood gushed into my face. I gasped and coughed, my stomach heaved, but before I had time to vomit, I was down on the ground, another of the creatures on top of me, ripping at my shirt, trying to get at my flesh. My sword had flown away into the darkness. I flailed with my arms and my legs, scrabbling helplessly, trying to ward off the foe. Without meaning to, I suddenly felt the hilt of my dagger pressed against my hand. And all at once, my mind cleared and became cool and quiet. Still striking out wildly with my legs and the left hand, I drew the dagger with my right, keeping it unobtrusively close to the ground.

Then the wild and ugly thing above me reared up. It yelled its triumph, believing to have me for sure – and with my last strength I thrust up my right, and kept going straight into its face and into its eye. Something hot and slimy hit my face, again I felt the spray of blood against my skin, first hot, then cool and sticky, stinking death spread all over me.

From far away I heard someone screaming, only dimly recognizing the voice as my own.  
Somehow I got up, and turned around trying to discern what was going on in the dark of the night. Several dark forms were lying motionless on the ground and I saw three or four moving shadows. The screams of wild and evil creatures echoed through the mountain night.

Suddenly there was silence. The only noise I heard was my own laboured breathing.

"Elrohir?" I gasped. A slender dark shape drifted up to me out of the shadows.

"_Yé!_ I'm here. Well fought, ranger from the North." He had the grace to sound slightly out of breath. I felt my knees give out under me and slid to the ground giggling softly with the shock and the horror of the unexpected attack. _Ranger from the North!_ If only he knew!

Suddenly I felt hot tears running down my blood smeared cheeks.

"Shhh, Jarro. All is well, you fought bravely. They are gone," a dark voice whispered into my ear, and I felt strong arms supporting my shaking body. "Are you hurt?"

I shook my head. "I don't think so."

But I was shaking so hard that I could barely stand. I collapsed against Elrohir, weeping without really knowing why.

"Shhh," he repeated, "They are gone."

Elrohir settled down on the ground and drew me against his body, holding me tightly with his left arm while I wept. But in his right hand he kept his sword unsheathed and ready for battle. He did not dare to light the fire again, and so we waited in the darkness of the mountains for the night to pass.

**ooo**

The cold light of dawn brought me awake. I was lying huddled in a blanket against Elrohir. His left arm was curled protectively around me, his right hand still held his sword. His eyes were open, surveying the area. My face was itching, and when I put my fingers up to my cheek, I felt a sticky crust of a glue like substance flaking off against my finger nails. I sat up straight, the memories of the night returning with undiminished horror. I looked at my fingers. The bits of substance I had scraped of my cheek were flakes of dried black blood. It stank like _offal_.

I had only just the time to stumble away from Elrohir and fall down on my knees before my stomach revolted, spilling a copious amount of nasty fluids into trampled grass that was dark with blood. Elrohir held on to my shoulders, or I would have fallen and collapsed onto the soiled ground. I felt a wet cloth wiping my face, and reached up to take the cloth with shaking hands from Elrohir. Before my face was clean the cloth was black with orc blood.

Elrohir took the cloth and wrung it out, pouring clear water on the rag and passing it back to me. Finally my face was clean and my gasping breath had become almost even again. Only then I grew aware of a burning sensation above my breasts. I looked down at my breasts, and between my breasts and my collarbone my shirt was ripped and hanging away in tatters. A bloody gash showed all over the front of my body, and had begun to bleed again from my fierce movements in my panicky attempts to get the old blood off my face.

"Elrohir, I think I am wounded. I am bleeding." My voice sounded thin and frightened in my ears. The Elf turned to me with worry in his eyes. His left cheek bone was bloodied and bruised, but apart from this little scrape he appeared to be unhurt.

"Let me have a look." His voice was calm and commanding. I only pointed at the front of my shirt. "Lie down and breathe deeply." I did as I was told. I felt his warm fingertips carefully following the gash in my skin. "Only a superficial cut. I will clean it and put some salve on it. Do not worry. It will heal to nothing."

I heard him rummage around the remains of the camp. Then the soothing fragrance of the _athelas _infusion reached my nostrils. I inhaled the calming scent of the kingsfoil, relaxing slightly. _I would survive._ With touches of exquisite softness Elrohir cleaned the wound, slathered it with a fragrant salve. Then he helped me into one of my spare shirts. I was shivering uncontrollably again.

"What happened?" I managed to choke out.

I felt Elrohir shrug, even as he put his arms around me once more. "Just calm down, Jarro."

I forced myself to relax, counting my breaths slowly, trying to listen for the soothing pause between inhaling and exhaling. After a time, I felt Elrohir incline his head ever so slightly.

"That's better. Ten orcs attacked us at three o'clock in the morning. Probably a hunting party. You killed two; I killed five, the remaining three fled into the night." He told me, his voice calm and matter-of-factly. "How do you feel? We should try to get as far away from the mountains as possible today."

"They will come after us?" My voice was trembling.

"Yes."

I was suddenly looking into a pair of bright grey eyes full of compassion and concern. I cleared my throat, wincing at the pain that flashed down my body. But the pain quickly faded to a tolerable ache. I sat up, leaning heavily onto my arms. I inhaled deeply, still feeling somewhat shaky.

"I'm alright. We can get going in a minute or two."

Elrohir shook his head at me, but after half an hour or so we were indeed ready to go, although I was happy to have the support of my walking staff – the souvenir from the Prancing Pony – as my knees still felt weak and mushy.

Elrohir had moved the carcasses of the dead orcs away from the camp site, but I insisted on going to have a look at the creatures I had killed. In the light of the sun the dead skin had turned from black to grey, and they were, although still big and strong not anymore the giant shadows coming at us in the dark.

_Gods, were they ugly brutes!_ Yellow, crooked teeth the length of my smallest finger. Long hairy, pointy ears. Slit, mean, yellow eyes. Their faces were covered with scars and warts and pustules filled with stinking pus. Their claws were sharp and dirty and some were covered with the black spots of drying mud. But nevertheless, as I looked at the gaping second maw my sword had cut across the throat of the first orc I had fought, and the pained grimace of the second, preserved in the rigour of death of the second, clawing helplessly at his eye – they had been living, breathing creatures. Yes, they were evil and vile, but they had been alive.

And I had killed them.

I swallowed hard, at a loss not only for words but thoughts, not knowing what to think, either of those demons, or of myself, cutting down those demons and killing them.

**ooo**

Speed was called for today, and the pain across my breast and the burning of my blistered feet notwithstanding, I hurried along behind Elrohir as if I already felt the foul breath of orcs at my neck. Nevertheless it was already late in the evening, when we reached a great river flowing towards the south.

"This is the Anduin. A few miles further on is an old ford. We can cross the river there and be relatively safe for the night," Elrohir told me. I felt alternately hot and cold with fever and exhaustion, his words barely registering as an explanation a ranger from the North should not need.

"Okay," I said, my voice more a croak than anything else. I trudged along behind Elrohir in the twilight, feeling tired to my bones, almost beyond caring, if orcs were just behind me scenting for my life's blood or not. When the icy floods of the river suddenly lapped at my feet, I jerked out of my semi-conscious state, almost screaming with the shock of the cold to my fevered flesh.

"Jarro?"

"Hmm …" Even this soft noise was exhausting.

"Can you hold on to my arm? We have to get across the river, then we can make camp and you can sleep. But we have to get across the river. They lose our scent in the water. They don't like the water."

Elrohir. That was Elrohir's voice, sounding urgent. Crossing the river. Holding his arm. I could do that. In a blink. I was a ranger from the North, after all. I grasped at his arm like a drowning swimmer. I stumbled through the icy floods of the Anduin hanging on to Elrohir's arms, more than once losing my footing. Only the Elf's extraordinary strength keeping me from being swept away into the dark. I never knew how we made it across and where Elrohir decided to rest for the night. I remember the shadow of a tree and the flickering flames of a fire, a tender hand smearing my wound with a fragrant salve – and then nothing. Blissful darkness and a sleep with no dreams at all.


	9. Mirkwood

**9. Mirkwood**

I opened my eyes and looked up into a great tree with smooth grey branches and oval, slightly pointed green leaves. A beech, probably. The sky above the branches and leaves was cloudless and blue, a perfect summer sky, and the golden sunlight filtering through the leaves was a warm caress on my skin. Suddenly I recalled our flight from the High Pass the day before and sat straight up, groaning as a burning pain rippled across my chest. I looked at the wound below my collarbone. Below the shirt I glimpsed bits of clean linen bandages, and when I moved with care it did not hurt very much. My feet were throbbing dully along with the wound across my chest. They felt as if we had run the distance of two days in one.

"We have … almost. But it's two days since the attack. You were a bit feverish the first day; I don't think you ever noticed when we stopped at the foot of the Misty Mountains to rest for a few hours." Elrohir stepped under the branches of the tree and smiled at me. His hair was wet from washing, and he wore a fresh white shirt loosely over his leggings.

I thought back, and could not come up with any recollection of the first night of running away from the orcs. I remembered pain and running and trying to get back my breath and then the cold waters of the Anduin, but it was all in jumbled bits and pieces in my memory, like a jig-saw puzzle. "They won't follow us here?" I asked, trying to keep any undertone of fear out of my voice.

Elrohir shook his head. "No, they won't. We are no far from Taur e-Ndaedelos and this great wood is free from evil this day and age. Thranduil, King of Mirkwood and Lord Celeborn of Lothlórien drove away the darkness from Mirkwood after the War of the Rings and renamed it Eryn Lasgalen. It has been home to Elves for a long time, and even though they are gone, traces of their power remain, and good men and their families have moved to the forest. No evil creature will dare cross the Anduin here."

I felt an almost palpable relief. "That's reassuring." Then I remembered about the plan to follow his brother's trail across the mountains to the North. "But what about your brother? You said that you think he hiked across the Misty Mountains to the North and only later turned probably into … Eryn Lasgalen." I kept forgetting that Mirkwood was not Mirkwood anymore in the fourth age.

Elrohir sighed. "That is true. But the orcs followed us almost to the banks of the Anduin. We cannot return to the Misty Mountains now. We would barely be safe with a company of accomplished Elvish warriors, and certainly not with only the two of us."

A horrible thought occurred to me. "Do you think, your brother …" I could not go on.

"No_,"_ Elrohir said, but his voice betrayed a certain tension. "I questioned one of those vile creatures. They have no prisoners at the moment and there has been no fight to put the fear of Elves into them recently. They would not have dared to attack us, had they encountered Elladan during the last months. Or at least not with a group of only ten scouts."

I hoped he was right. And why shouldn't he be -- after all, he was the expert, both Elf and ranger, and a warrior from the War of the Ring.

"Where do we go from here, then?" I asked.

"We are now at the Old Ford, a good day's march from the beginning of the Old Forest Road, the Men-i-Naugrim, which crosses Taur-En-Daedelos from the West to the East. It's a straight road and should be still kept in order. I think we should take this way. It will be easy on your wound and on the other side of the forest we can turn north and travel to Lake Town and Dale to ask for news of my brother there." Elrohir fell silent, and there were shadows lurking in the depth of his bright grey eyes.

"Why did you wait so long to go looking for him?" I blurted out and regretted my bluntness instantly. This was nothing of my business.

Elrohir sat down in the shadow of the tree a few feet away from me, fingering the wet tendrils of his hair. Then he looked up at me. A fleeting expression of pain passed over his face. "I could not believe he would simply stay away, without sending any message … knowing that our time here is nearly over." The elegant lines of his face tightened, giving away nothing of his feelings, but his eyes betrayed him, darkening to an almost black colour again. "We were always together in the past, never separated for more than a few days. But now …"

His voice trailed off. He had to be thinking the same thing I was thinking. His brother going off like that, just before they were supposed to leave for Aman to claim their immortal Elvish heritage … To me that sounded as if Elladan was not really sure about leaving Middle-earth. And if Elladan decided to stay and Elrohir wished to go to the Blessed Realm, their parting would be forever, beyond the destruction and remaking of Arda. I shuddered at the thought of spending all eternity without the person one loved the most and was closest to. Then I frowned at myself, remembering that at the moment I had no person at all I felt really close to. And although I really loved my brother, I did hardly notice if half a year went by and I did not hear from him. After all, we were both adults and had our own lives. Strange, really; I had not expected Elves to feel so intensely about their family. But perhaps it was only a twin thing. Twins were special, even in the real world; I knew there were any number of scientific studies about this special bond most twins appeared to have.

Elrohir's voice interrupted my musings.

"Hmmm?" I had not understood a word he had been saying. "Sorry, I was a world away in my thoughts."

"I said whether you wanted to have a bath first and breakfast later, or the other way around."

Bath? I lifted my arm and sniffed. My hair felt sticky and tangled, too. _Bath!_ "I think a bath sounds fine. The river's safe?"

Elrohir nodded. "There is a pool at the edge of the river down there._" _He pointed to the some boulders at the edge of the grassy slopes leading down to the river. "The current does not reach it. But don't venture out of it; the currents of the Anduin are strong and treacherous, even up here."

"I will be careful, I promise." I got up and stretched my aching back, careful not to put a strain on the wound. My backpack had been put up against a gnarled root. I opened it and rummaged among my things until I found the large towel, my brush, the soap and the toothbrush. Then I walked down to the edge of the river.

The Anduin was indeed a mighty river. As I watched the waves crashing against some boulders in the middle of the river, white spray flying high into the air I got an inkling of the strength of the Anduin's currents. I would make very sure to stay in the rocky pool at the edge of the river. I climbed down to the sun warmed boulders and pulled of my clothes. With extreme care I removed the bandage from my chest and was relieved to see only a crusted red line. It was a clean, shallow cut and it was not inflamed. No need to call things off because of this scratch. Although it did hurt, and itch. I grimaced. I sat down on a boulder at the edge of the pool of clear water before me. Large boulders formed a little cove around it. Slowly, carefully I lowered my feet to the surface of the water and gasped with shock. Only just in time I managed to suppress a completely undignified squeal. The water was cold as ice! I shivered at the thought of submerging in water that cold. But I felt horribly sweaty and dirty. And that Elf … he had stayed in there long enough to wash hair, which was a good deal longer than my own shoulder-length brown curls. Well, not really curls, more like soft waves, but tangling into knots and creating a mess just like real curls. One – two – three – I lost my dignity and screamed.

"Did you hurt yourself?" Elrohir had materialized out of thin air and was kneeling above me on the boulder I had just slipped down from. I was hopping to and fro in the icy water, only just remaining upright by clinging to a ledge of the boulder.

"No, no_,"_ I gasped. "I'm alright. But this water is bloody damn cold!"

I gasped again, as a wave struck the back of my neck, continuing my hopping motion in order to get accustomed to the cold of the water. Slowly my heart beat returned to normal and I felt the smooth expanse of another boulder under my feet, giving me a more secure footing. I looked up and found Elrohir still kneeling on the rock with the strangest expression on his face. I followed his gaze and realized belatedly that I was buck naked and that my jumping up and down had set my relatively full breasts bobbing up and down. I felt the blood rush into my head. I was probably blushing furiously and had nowhere to hide.

"Would you mind looking the other way?" I asked, when the Elf did not turn away of his own accord. I stared up at the beautiful angular face and was rewarded with the sight of an unmistakable blush spreading across the pearly white skin, all the way up to the delicate tips of his ears.

He turned around at once. "I – er – will go up to the tree – keeping look-out. Just yell when – er –"

"I'll shout when anything happens," I promised to his back.

_"Yé …" _ he replied and then he was gone.

I exhaled deeply and submerged completely. Gods, was the water cold. But suddenly it felt exhilarating, too. I felt the tangles of my hair float away freely in the slight current moving fresh water into the pool. When I came up again, I had adjusted to the cold of the river and felt almost comfortable. I brushed out my wet hair, suppressing valiantly any further squeals when a tangle proved to be particularly nasty. Then I climbed one of the boulders so that the water only lapped at my ankles and slathered myself with the soap. Real shower gel is much better, of course. But it is actually possible to get reasonably clean in a river with a bar of soap. After getting my body clean I set to work soaping my hair. It was quite a bit of work to get enough foam out of the soap to clean my hair. I submerged again, opening my eyes under water and admiring the clear quality of the Anduin's water. The water was absolutely translucent and the white, grey and reddish rocks looked really beautiful with the current washing over their smooth surfaces. My hair was floating with the current, I felt light and clean and wonderful, almost like a mermaid.

At last I climbed out of the water and wrung my hair out. With only the one thin towel there was no way to rub it dry. I took one look at my clothes and decided to get out my spare clothes. Tying the towel around me I walked up to the tree. Elrohir was nowhere in sight. All the better. I could get dressed in privacy. I got out my spare things, clumsily bandaged the wound again and dressed. Loose green trousers of a thick, sturdy cloth, bra, a cream coloured linen shirt, a green tunic, the leather belt with my purse and the dagger attached to it, and I was ready to go.

"Elrohir? Are you somewhere?" I called out and jumped almost a foot into the air, when the Elf dropped out of the branches of the tree landing smoothly next to me. What if he had watched me dress? Only a game, I told myself. Only a game. But my heart beat like a drum nevertheless.

"What is it?"

"I was only wondering whether we could stay here for the night. I could wash my things then. That is … if it's safe." I looked at him, trying to interpret his expression. Was it terribly idiotic to want to wash clothes when on a quest like this?

"I thought we'd stay for the night to give you some more time to recover," Elrohir told me.

Give me time to recover? The wound hurt a bit, and my feet felt stiff, but I did not feel the need to recover. Cleaned up I felt positively splendid. Give a ranger time to recover from a little run in with some orcs … and how could an Elf, who did not really exist doubt my masquerade? Is a table a table or do you only believe it is a table? Can you discover at all, whether a table is a table is a table or only the image of the table? I walked back to the pool with my dirty clothes and the soap, my thoughts getting into a knot of what I had had to read about Plato in my philosophy class at university.

When I knelt on a low rock at the edge of the river scrubbing away at my clothes, the water cold on my fingers, the cloth wet and heavy in my hands, everything feeling as real as can be, I realized that my grasp of what was real and what possibly could not be real, was fraying. But somehow I could not make myself go up to the tree and take out the box with the little switch. Even the possibility of a nice dinner with the handsome young physician was fading with each day, into a hazy memory of another life, in another world.

I wrung out my clothes and spread them on the boulders in the sun, hoping they would be reasonably dry by morning. I would accompany Elrohir to Dale. Then I would get out of the game. That was a good plan. I would see the town of dwarves and men; I could have a look at the splendid architecture Glóin had told Frodo of at the dinner in Rivendell before the Council of Elrond. Elladan would perhaps have left a message there. Even with the pending decision weighing heavy on his heart, I could not imagine that he would leave his brother after thousands of years with no message at all. Everything would be fine and I would go home.

Why then could I not dispel this nasty feeling that nothing was fine and that the fact of no message at all from Elladan boded no good?

**ooo**

The next morning dawned bright and warm, another perfect summer's day. It did not stay perfect long. Elrohir declared that we should start the day with some fighting practice. Posing as a ranger I could hardly refuse, although the following hour was enough to shatter any pretence of my being in any way related to the Dúnedain of old. An hour later I sat in the shadow of the tree, gasping for air. I felt as if I had been kicked by a mule not once, but a score of times, and managed to empty a bottle with the cool water from the river in about five swallows.

Elrohir, on the other hand, had no hair out of place and was breathing evenly, looking perfectly at ease and rested. But he smiled at me encouragingly. "You have real talent, Jarro. You are sure-footed and for a woman you are tall and strong. With a bit of practice no orc will score you as easily as back on the pass."

I stared at him, not quite believing this kind of praise. "Do you really believe that?" I could not keep a trace of incredulity out of my voice.

He frowned at that. "Of course I do. Why should I lie to you?"

And why should he? He was not Mike, who had told me he thought my passion for fairy tales and fantasy stories cute until shouting at me to get real and start living in the world as it really was.

The road leading towards the dark expanse of forest to the east was straight and level. It was, of course, not a real road, but only a stretch of bare packed dirt, what we would call a field lane, suitable for sturdy coaches and horses, and of course, for wanderers such as Elrohir and myself. It was easy walking nevertheless, just as Elrohir had promised. The sun was shining brightly and a soft breeze kept lifting the dark strands of the Elf's hair. He had left it open today, and I was continually looking at the silky waves floating on the air in front of me.

_Jarro, you looser_, I thought. Not enough to fall for one idiot after the other, you develop a crush on a programmed figure in a computer game. It would almost be better to join the ranks of all those teenagers pining for a certain blonde actor from the LOTR movies. Perhaps, if – when – I left the game, I could persuade the glamorous Mr. Smith to present me with a screen shot of Elrohir. But I felt pretty miserable at this thought and increased my speed, catching up with Elrohir.

"It's a good day for walking, isn't it?" I said, hoping for a bit of conversation.

The Elf looked at the sea of tall trees we were approaching. There was a hint of a smile playing around his lips. "Yes, it is. We make good speed and the wind and the sun tell only of the peaceful goings-on of all the usual small creatures of these regions. Everything is calm. We walk well together. Our feet have the same rhythm."

"Really?" I looked down at our feet. And indeed, he was right. We were moving at exactly the same speed, with a flowing, easy pace. Interesting. Too interesting. Watching our feet made me miss a hole in the road. I stumbled and would have fallen, if Elrohir had not caught me at my left elbow. I swayed against him, feeling an almost electric shock of the contact prickle along my skin. I felt myself blushing once again. _Jarro, the ranger – what a joke! _

"I probably should keep looking at where I am walking nevertheless_,"_ I said, feeling embarrassed.

"Probably", Elrohir agreed, looking at me with his grey eyes shining. Slowly, almost reluctantly, he released my arm. Or had I imagined that?

In the evening we had reached the edge of the wood. Mirkwood, or rather Eryn Lasgalen turned out to be not a forbidding forest of dark fir trees, but rather a mixed forest of leaved trees and needle trees, with underbrush in various stages of growth. I recognized oaks, beeches, ashes, firs, spruce and even some pines. The forest exuded a warm, spicy scent of wood and herbs, woodruff and resin melting in the sun.

I inhaled deeply. "The wood smells wonderful, don't you think? The very perfume of summer."

I tilted my head back and inhaled again, tasting the air. When I looked over at the Elf, he was mirroring me, standing with face tilted up at the branches, his eyes closed, concentrating on his other senses. There was a stillness to him, standing tall and lithe as a willow wand in front of the slender trunk of young birch tree, with his black hair moving slightly with the breeze, he seemed more like a tree, a growing thing of wilderness, than anything human. He really was not human, I realized once again, and shiver ran down my spine, making the tiny hairs on my arms stand up. He was not human at all, he was something else, an alien creature, who could talk to a tree and be answered in kind. Suddenly he broke his stance, shaking his head and smiling at me with an open, happy smile of pure joy, which reminded me of the delight small children sometimes display on discovering a tiny flower or a pretty pebble.

"Indeed, the perfume of summer. You make me feel young again, Jarro. It's been a long time since I walked with a human through mountains and woods. I think we can stay here for the night."

"Lovely idea," I said and threw my backpack on the ground. I pulled off my shoes and socks and enjoyed the feeling of soft green moss under my toes. Elrohir had moved off to gather dead wood for a fire; I watched the fluid movements of the Elf bending for a branch, straightening and moving on along the edge of the forest with barely concealed fascination. If I was able to dance the way the Elf gathered wood, I would not have to worry about getting a new job.

**ooo**

I woke before dawn the next morning, opening my eyes from soothing dreams, feeling instantly awake and clear of mind.

The edge of the forest I was looking at was hazy with silvery mist. Suddenly something moved in the swirls of mist. At first I started, almost expecting ugly black figures breaking out of the woods, running for us with cries of war on their leathery lips, but the mists parted to reveal two animals.

I blinked in amazement. Looking at me from a distance of perhaps thirty feet away was a deer like animal with its young. However, it was not a deer. It looked like mix of a zebra and a horse. Its fur was white as a pearl and gleaming through the mist. The mane was bristly, but its tail was swishy like the tail of a horse. But the feature, which made my heart speed up with wonder and excitement, was the single, slender, white horn on its forehead. The kid was just as white, but it did not have a horn yet. I did not dare to breathe, and watched with fascination, as the unicorn turned and slowly made its way back into the forest, the little one following close behind its mother. Shortly after the animals had disappeared the sun broke through and the mist dissipated in the first light of another glorious day of sun shine and blue skies. Walking under the canopy of leaves, the warm rays of the summer sun dancing in green and gold sparkles around us, my heart was filled with delight at being alive in this beautiful and magical world.


	10. Dwarves and Rumours

**10. Dwarves and Rumours**

It felt strange to leave the secure shadows of the trees, which had sheltered us during the last eleven days. I felt somehow naked under the blue sky, and glanced around me nervously.

We had made good speed travelling through Eryn Lasgalen, achieving a distance of round about twenty-five miles each day. I looked at the bruises and calluses on my fingers. I was evidently turning into a ranger, walking farther and faster each day. My hands looked worse than Aragorn's in the movies by now. Elrohir had insisted on practicing with the swords each day and had added bow and arrow five days ago. I would gladly have skipped the latter. It was boring, it was exhausting to keep up the tension and concentrate on the aim and my arrows had hit most anything up until now, but not the aim.

On our way through the forest we had met no one and found no clue to the whereabouts of Elladan. But the woods and their creatures were peaceful and knew of no disturbance, so at least nothing evil had happened to him here – if he had walked the rustling shadows of Eryn Lasgalen at all.

After leaving the woods, we skirted the marshlands at the confluence of Thranduil's river and the Celduin, heading north towards Long Lake on its western shores. Although the plains between the Celduin and the Carnen, the river Redwater out of the Iron Hills, now officially belonged to the Kingdom of Dale, Elrohir had told me that the term "the Wild" or "Wilderland" still applied. The wild eastern tribes out of Rhûn and Dorwinion sometimes roamed in those sparsely settled lands, and they were wild and dangerous (apparently the kill strangers first, ask questions later kind of people). I offered no argument to Elrohir's decision to stay on the safer side of the Celduin.

Dusk was approaching and after a day's walking in the hot summer sunshine I felt sweaty and tired. I did not bother to suppress a yawn. As we walked on, I grew aware of rushing sound, which increased into a thundering noise as we walked on.

I turned towards the Elf nervously. "What is that sound?"

Elrohir grinned at me and pointed ahead. The trail, which had swerved away from the river Running during the afternoon, was no turning back towards it. Feeling slightly irritated, I obeyed Elrohir's command.

After a few yards I stopped dead in my tracks and just stared at the wonder of nature before me. The thundering and rushing sounds I had heard were a number of broad water falls splashing down a sharp incline of at least ninety feet, extending for at least four or five miles horizontally. Swirls of mist danced among the falls and the last rays of sunshine shivered as shimmering flecks of colour in the spray. The water pooled in a wide, triangular basin, narrowing towards the South and releasing the river Celduin on its way towards the Sea of Rhûn to the East.

I turned towards the Elf and felt my face positively glowing with delight. "This is beautiful, the power of the water, that's simply awesome! I've never seen anything like it before!"

Elrohir grinned back at me, enjoying my amazement. He had taken to showing me plants, animals and stars during the last days and observing my reactions seemed to entertain him no end.

"The Lake Falls are very beautiful, even if they are only a shadow of the majesty of the Rauros falls," Elrohir commented.

Then he led me to the banks of the river. With no hesitation he found us a perfect place to stay for the night, a spot of warm sandy beach in the shelter of several tumbled boulders and weeping willows, facing towards the falls. I put down my pack and set about looking for stones to bank a fire with, and enough driftwood to cook some supper and keep warm during the night. Elrohir was crouching at the edge of the water … either communing with the river or catching some fish? I hoped for the latter and got the fire burning. And indeed, I was rewarded with a string of beautiful rainbow trout strung up on a willow twig some twenty minutes later.

Sitting in the warm sand, my mouth still filled with the delicate flavour of grilled trout, I looked out across the lake towards the falls, their water glittering silver in the moon light and felt completely happy and at peace with the world. Tomorrow we would reach Lake Town, Esgaroth, apart from Dale the only town in Middle-earth, where dwarves and men lived companionably and peacefully together.

**ooo**

We started out again early in the morning, Elrohir gliding, me scrambling up the steep slopes at the edge of the falls. After two hours of climbing I finally reached the summit, gasping and sweating and feeling remarkably anti-elvish at the sight of Elrohir, who was neither out of breath nor betraying any hint of feeling hot.

But the view was certainly worth the effort: behind us lay the breathtaking vista of the falls splashing into the Celduin, while the oval surface of Long Lake lay in front of us, some ten miles wide and more than twenty miles long. It sparkled in the sunshine, promising good swimming and relief of the heat. Elrohir, however, was disinclined to make a break and take a swim. He wanted to reach New-Esgaroth by evening, and so we continued on a path at the western shore of Long Lake towards the North.

At noon we reached some treacherous marshlands where the Forest River flowed into the lake. It was very hot, and there were myriads of tiny flies and midges flying around us in thick clouds. The stings were itching horribly. The path was difficult, I had to watch exactly where Elrohir had stepped or risk sinking into a swamp hole up to my hips, which happened twice. By the time we were across the marshes, I was covered with stinking, slimy mud and thoroughly bad-tempered. Elrohir's light leather slippers were barely splattered with mud, and the few spots on his leggings and tunic resulted from his having to tow me out of the sludge.

"I need a break. I have to get out of these stinking clothes and those stings are driving me crazy," I announced, my voice sounding testy even to my own ears. Elrohir raised his eyebrows and studied my appearance. Accurately judging my evil temper, he acquiesced and sat down at the edge of the lake on a rock, bathing his feet and looking the other way, as I took off my shoes – sturdy, absolutely inelegant walking boots – and socks, then entered the lake without even bothering to take off my foul smelling clothing.

Submerging completely in the cool waters of the lake, I felt a measure of quiet return to me. I stripped underwater and proceeded to wash myself and my clothes. When I felt comparatively clean and almost like a human being again, I turned towards the Elf with the first smile since sinking into the stinking swamp.

"I guess there's something to that saying about cleanliness being next to goodliness after all," I said and smiled at Elrohir.

But Elrohir's eyes were staring across the lake unseeing, drifting through the strange mazes of Elvish dreams and sorrows. He had told me that he could feel his brother's thoughts, if he was anywhere nearby, and I had witnessed his searching for his brother's presence several times during the last days. Suddenly the light of his personality returned to his eyes and they lit up with a silvery gleam.

"Do you feel better now?" he asked, searching my face. I grinned through my puffy eyes and rubbed my fingertips lightly across a particularly nasty sting.

"Yep. Almost human again. Any sign from your brother?"

He shook his head, his eyes darkening to a sombre twilight. "Come out of the lake, I can give you a salve for the stings."

I obeyed. And if those stings had not itched like the dickens, I would have thoroughly enjoyed the feeling of Elvish fingertips on my cheeks and forehead. Why did life always sabotage such moments, which would look so very romantic in a movie? I did not bother changing into dry clothes. The sun was so hot I felt the cloth drying against my skin within minutes. The path following the lake's north-western shores behind the Long Marshes was fairly level and quite broad. From the lake a light breeze drifted up to us and made walking much more enjoyable than during morning and noon.

After we had walked along the lakeside for perhaps an hour, I saw strange structures protruding from the water close to the shore, and there were tumbled ruins of ancient buildings close to the path. "What are those?" I asked and pointed at the dark shapes looking out of the water.

Elrohir slowed down until he was walking next to me. "Esgaroth and the village of Lake-Town used to lie here. Both were destroyed by the dragon of the Lonely Mountain. The city was rebuilt to the north, far larger and more beautiful than either of the old cities."

I stared at the Elf and thought I could almost see a picture of these long ago perished cities flickering in the depths of his eyes. I swallowed hard, recalling a conversation about reckoning and his date of birth we had one night in the forest.

He counted this year as the year 320 of the fourth age; King Elessar had died two hundred years ago. Elrohir had been born in the year 139 of the third age. Keeping with the reckoning, Elrohir was now 3,181 years old. I tried to think about the history of the earth, to come up with some kind of comparison for this dimension of time. 1,200 years Before Christ. Who had been alive then? I frowned, trying to recall my class of ancient history at university. Phoenicians trading on the Mediterranean Seas … Egypt, of course, Tutankhamen had lived from 1347 until 1306 B.C., and around 1,100 … hadn't that been the reign of Ramses the something or other? Europe, though … I had no clue what – if anything at all – had been in Europe at that time. _Stonehenge?_ I felt an icy shiver running down my spine, suddenly realizing just how deep the abyss of time and space separating Elrohir and my own tiny glimpse of existence really ran. The Elf had been alive for more human life times than I could place in my sketchy knowledge of the history of my own world. All at once I felt terribly clumsy and unworthy, standing next to one of the firstborn. I swallowed again and stepped back, unsure of how to react or what to say.

Elrohir suddenly turned back to me, the shadows gone from his eyes, his face as young as any man of thirty-something, and far more attractive. He seemed to discover traces of my thoughts on my face, because he smiled at me with a hint of sadness.

"Do not trouble yourself about the difference between your mortal age and my Eldarin life times. Time runs differently for Elves than for humans. Old and young are qualities with little meaning to us." Then his smile turned into a grin. "Although I do admit that your company makes me feel like a boy again, younger and more care-free than I have been in centuries."

He turned and walked away, striding down the path to our destination at the northern edge of the lake, leaving me to stare after him with my mouth open in absolutely undignified confusion.

**ooo**

New-Esgaroth was a city of white and gold and blue. The Long Lake shimmered blue under the white stones of houses, palaces, towers and bridges rising above the water. The roofs, domes and cupolas of the palaces blazed almost painfully bright with their golden tiles.

Early in the evening the path had suddenly turned onto a paved road. Light grey octagonal stones formed an even pavement that arched slightly at the centre to allow rainwater to drain away. It was strange to walk on a real road after so many days on paths and muddy lanes, and the stones felt uncomfortably hard through the soles of my feet. But we did not have to walk far on the road, because after only half a mile we reached the shore of the lake again. Two small white guard-houses secured the entrance of a white bridge that led towards the city of New-Esgaroth with many wide arches carved in somewhat Celtic, angular designs. Two tall guards in blue uniforms trimmed with gold stood in the middle of the road, their spears crossed. Elrohir walked up to them with me trailing along behind him.

"Who are you – where do you come from – and what is your business in Esgaroth?" asked one of the guards in a cool, clipped speech, emphasising the consonants and rolling his r's just behind his teeth.

"My name is Elrohir, son of Elrond. I come from Rivendell, searching for my brother, Elladan. My companion is Jarro, a –" He paused slightly and I thought I had caught a quick wink from the corner of his right eye. "A ranger from the North. We want to stay in Esgaroth for a few days and ask if one of the merchants has perchance a message from my brother."

The guard looked us up and down, and finally seemed to decide that we were no threat to the city of Esgaroth.

"You may pass," he said and stepped back. The other guard stared at the Elf in wonder, and not only stepped back, but bowed very low. When he straightened, his eyes were shining brightly with joy.

"You are of Elvenkind, my Lord, aren't you? I thought, there was none of your kindred left in Middle-earth, that the last Elves had left two or three generations ago! It is a great honour for us that you visit our city. I hope you enjoy your stay! _Mae govannen!_"

Elrohir bowed to him in return, returning the Elvish greeting. "_Mae govannen_, indeed. It is my honour to visit your beautiful city again."

But when we walked across the bridge, Elrohir's eyes were overcast with some inner shadows. It had to be a strange and lonely feeling to be the very last of your race left in a world of lesser men.

In Esgaroth we allowed us to be shown to one of the guest houses at the lake front. The landlord treated me just as reverently as the Elvish lord, whose unexpected arrival had already caused quite an audience to assemble in front of the house, from a group of curious children to a mixed crowd of adult onlookers. Without question the rooms we were shown to were the very best of the house. What I would have called a "pent-house suite" with terraces surrounding the roof around it and a splendid view out across the lake. I only hoped Elrohir would pay for my room, too, because I felt very sure that, substantial though the contents of my purse might be, they would never cover the expenses of Esgaroth's equivalent to the Hilton.

For our dinner a table was laid on Elrohir's terrace and a nervous boy waited on us hand and foot. Consequently dinner was a splendid affair, with candle light and golden wine, five courses of salad, fish, meat, dessert, fine cheeses and a spicy drink of something in between cocoa and coffee as a pick-me-up. I was grateful that the portions served were comparatively small, or I would never have managed to stay the distance of this sumptuous dinner.

The atmosphere of the beautifully laid table, the fine food and the exquisite architecture of the rooms was completely at odds with my travel stained appearance, and even Elrohir in his grey travelling attire did not quite match the splendour of the evening in spite of his Elvish elegance. But it was probably better this way, because I felt quite at ease and really enjoyed the dinner, listening to Elrohir telling me the tale of Smaug and the rebuilding of Esgaroth after the battle of the five armies.

"So, where do you plan to go and ask for news of your brother?" I asked finally, sipping at the hot spicy drink served at the end of the meal.

"Esgaroth is governed by a Council of traders and merchants and ambassadors of the dwarven kingdom. If anyone has heard from my brother, they will know it. I will go to the Council Hall in the morning and ask for news. After the courteous welcome we received I don't doubt that they will grant me an audience," Elrohir explained, turning the cup with his drink around in his hands. I looked at him curiously. His lips were tight, and I thought I detected a slight strain around his eyes.

"You don't expect to find out about the whereabouts of your brother here, do you?"

He remained silent for a long moment, and then he shook his head. "No. The Elf-friend at the gate of the city would have told me at once." He sighed softly. "But I have to try anyway." Then he looked straight at me, carefully considering his next words. "I expect you will now return to … where ever it is you come from?"

I stared at him, my heart in my mouth. I blinked, not knowing what to say. Or do. Indeed, I realized, I had not the slightest notion of what I should do. Returning to a far-away afternoon in London seemed to be … as strange as the idea to … travel … – I discovered that I could somehow not think of this as an artificial world in a game anymore – to travel to Middle-earth in the first place. I told myself that the reason for my sudden reluctance to leave was probably that I wanted to know how this story would end, how Elrohir would find his brother again and what they would do … But how could I explain this to Elrohir?

"Actually, I … would like to accompany you a bit further," I said, trying to sound nonchalantly and ignoring his remark of 'where ever I came from'. "That is, if I am not a nuisance or something – if you want me – if …" I trailed off lamely.

The Elf's bright eyes seemed to literally pierce my thoughts, and I felt my heart racing like after one of those practice sessions of sword fighting. Was that relief shining in his eyes? But then the moment was gone, and Elrohir answered in his normal, darkly melodic voice, "A ranger is never a nuisance on lonely country roads."

I frowned at him, as I had been by no means oblivious to his recognizing my considerable lack of skills as a ranger.

"Very funny," I said testily.

But Elrohir reached across the table and took my hand. My breath caught in my throat and I felt my heart beating like a drum. "I would be very glad of you company, Jarro."

**ooo**

I slept late in the morning. When I finally ventured down to the parlor to eat breakfast, I was told that Lord Elrohir had left for the Council hours ago and would probably not be back until the evening. It looked as if had to discover the wonders of the City on the Waters on my own.

That was fine with me, as I felt the presence of the Elf more and more distracting, and Esgaroth seemed to be quite an interesting place. Friends of mine had travelled to Venice and had been delighted at the beautiful combination of architecture and water in one city. Roaming the streets and places of Esgaroth this summer's day I finally understood what they had been talking about. The closeness to the water, all around the city as well as in the city, with its numerous canals and pretty little boats accounted for an atmosphere of lightness I had encountered in no other city before.  
Apart from enjoying the beautiful architecture I kept looking for dwarves, but at noon I had not been lucky enough to spot anything like the sturdy figures I had encountered in the Prancing Pony.

My luck changed early in the afternoon, when someone turned around a corner without looking, running smack into me and throwing me to the ground. It was a dwarf, clothed in dark-green velvet, with a long grey beard and sparkling green eyes set deeply under bristly brows, his nose quite large and hooked. He wore golden glasses on a chain around his neck and was completely flustered at finding a human woman knotted around his feet. He helped me up as courteously as someone of his comparatively small size can aid a woman of 1.7 metres in height. Then he insisted on inviting me for a cool drink in compensation for the accident. I did not mind the accident and gladly accepted the invitation. Finally I had the opportunity to talk to a real dwarf!

"Gorn, son of Gaîn, son of Galin," he introduced himself. "At my lady's service."

"My name is Jarro," I said. "I am a ranger from the North; I travel with Elrohir-_Peredhel_."

The dwarf looked up with his eyes full of curiosity. "You are the girl – sorry – the lady travelling with the Elf! Then you have news to tell! I pray thee, lady, do tell, how fares the north of Middle-earth?"

Sipping at my lemonade, I smiled at him. "I will give you all the news that I know, but you have to give news from your own country as well. We are looking for Lord Elrohir's brother who wanted to travel first north through the Misty Mountains and then to the east, probably heading for the Lonely Mountain."

He nodded thoughtfully, scratching his beard.

"The northern-most news I can give you are from Bree," I told the dwarf, and he was immediately interested, as Bree was situated at a crossing of roads where the traders of different tribes of dwarves frequently met.

He grumbled about the gossip of trading and weather I had gleaned from the merchants at the Pony and commented the rumours about the Elves leaving Middle-earth to darkness and despair with a melancholy "Ai! 'Tis sad to see the ancient races dwindle and pass away …"

Was he referring to his own people? My question was answered, when he in turn began to tell me of the plight of his own people. Apparently dwarven women had always been few, due to the hard life under the mountains. But now, for more than a hundred years no dwarf-girls at all had been born, foreboding the death of his people. He knew nothing of an Elf called Elladan travelling on his own to the east.

But he had heard a rumour.

"It is only a rumour, mind," he said, his voice a bit grouchy. "But my cousin, Berin, son of Barin, son of Balin, he did some trading with one of those eastern tribes some time ago. One of those wild tribes that roam far to the east, going as far as the Orocarni, it was. And they told him about Elves living in the woods of the foothills of the Orocarni, many hundred leagues away, and due east of the Sea of Rhûn. I did not believe him, and I don't know how that can possibly be true. As far as I knew – at least until you arrived here in Esgaroth – I thought that all Elves had left Middle-earth. But with your friend very obviously an Elf, mayhap these stories about Elves in the East are true, too. Perhaps they will know about your friend's brother."

We talked some more, then said good-bye, after I had promised to visit him in Dale sometime. I returned to the guest house lost in thought. Rumours about Elves in the east … and Elladan had wanted to travel to the farthest eastern shores of Arda … maybe those tales were only rumours, but it was better than nothing. Elves in the east … there had been nothing in all of the books about Elves in the east.

In fact, apart from a few lines about the wild Easterlings living in the wild countries around the inland sea, there was not much about the east of Eä at all in Tolkien's writings. _Strange._

**oooOooo**

* * *

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Yours  
JunoMagic


	11. The Sea of Rhûn

**Rating: **This chapter contains strong but non-explicit adult themes according to the rating M recommended by FFNet. This chapter is therefore not suitable reading material for children or teens below the age of 16.

* * *

**oooOooo**

**11. The ****Sea**** of ****Rhûn**

"Elves? In the east?" Elrohir looked at me with a bewildered expression on his face.

"Yes, the Dwarf had it from a cousin, who had it from some wild tribe which has been venturing into the Far East – to some mountains with a strange name, the Orocarni." Told like that, my news sounded rather like the tale of the tarantula in the yucca-plant. You know those absolutely true stories of the second cousin of your aunt's cleaning lady's best friend … On the other hand, those stories have to come from somewhere, and as the saying goes, where there is smoke, there may be a fire.

"Look, Elrohir, I know this sounds stupid, but the Dwarf had no reason at all to lie to me, and since no one you asked had anything to lead us from here, why don't we try to find those mysterious Elves of the east?" I tried to sound confidently. And after all, what did an Elf, ranger and warrior have to fear in the Middle-earth of the Fourth Age? When Elrohir looked up at me, startled, I realized that I had not told him my decision to accompany him to the end of his story yet. He did not say anything, but the glittering of starlight, which sometimes seemed to sparkle in his grey eyes, grew stronger, and his smile touched the core of my heart.

"You are right. If any of our kindred are left in the Far East, Elladan might have stayed with them. And at least, they would surely know if he had passed through their lands to reach the distant shores." He still did not sound convinced.

Acting on an impulse, never stopping to think, I stepped up to the Elf and grasped his arms tightly. "Do you believe your brother is still alive?" I tilted my head to look straight into his eyes. And all of a sudden a veil I had not known was even there vanished, leaving eyes full of panic and loneliness. "Do you believe Elladan is still alive somewhere?"

Elrohir inhaled slowly, releasing his breath in a shivery sigh. "Yes," he whispered finally. "I believe he is alive. I would know if he was dead."

"Then we will find him," I promised. "If we have to look in every nook and cranny of this whole damned world, we will find him. I promise. – Ranger's promise," I added in an afterthought to lighten the mood.

We stayed in Esgaroth for another day, to buy additional supplies and horses. The vast distances of the eastern plains were even too far for a light-footed Elf, and though it was only Hísimë, August, there was a deadline to keep. I was delighted with the white mare Elrohir bought for me. I had learned how to ride as a girl, as many girls in England do as teenagers, but I had never owned a horse, nor met such a beautiful and sweet creature as the white mare I would have the pleasure to ride from now on. She was called "Cloud" -- a name that I did not think overly original, but you cannot rename a grown animal, so Cloud she was. Elrohir had acquired a fiery grey stallion who was called Lightning. I did not dare approach this calamity on hooves, but the animal adored the Elf.

We left Esgaroth early the next morning. After so many days of sunshine, this was a grey day with a cold wind and dark clouds promising rain. We were clothed in the grey cloaks of Lórien, as we rode slowly across the white bridge towards the shore. If someone had been able to take a photo, it would have probably made a nice romantic poster for a teenager's room. Probably better that nobody was here to take such a picture. Oh, hell, for all I know there was an artist in the crowd that had gathered to see us off and there's a dark and angsty oil on canvas out there somewhere with Elrohir and a certain ranger from the north on it.

The crowd really surprised me. Men, women and children and even a number of Dwarves had come to the bridge to see us off. Some of the girls even threw blossoms on the bridge to bid us farewell. In their eyes I saw the haunting sadness of knowing that they would never see one of the Firstborn again in their lives. I suddenly realized that I was riding with a living legend, a legend of heroic deeds, a legend of dark days, a legend of a beauty not of this world. A legend almost gone from this world. I felt very weird.

We did not turn back on the path we had come, but instead rode around the northernmost edge of the lake, taking the eastern shore of the Celduin. The Redwater, halfway to the Sea of Rhûn would be comparatively easy to cross with horses, but not the Celduin. The few extra miles around the northern edge of Long Lake would save us a dangerous crossing later on.

**ooo**

The first day we barely talked. I was too busy with Cloud, making much of the beautiful horse and trying not to fall off ignominiously; it had been several years since I had ridden the last time. In the evening of the first day I was almost too stiff to dismount by myself. 'Almost' being the important word in the context. I cleaned Cloud's hooves and brushed her silky coat lovingly, leading her carefully to the river to drink and choosing an especially nice spot of grass for her to graze and stay for the night. I kept as far away from Lightning as I could, after the stallion had made it clear that he did not care for either my or Cloud's presence in his immediate vicinity at the moment.

After the first day we settled into an easy routine of rising early and riding with two or three breaks until sunset. Within three days Lightning was inclined to put up with Cloud's  
presence, and if not happy with me, he let himself be persuaded not to try and bite my ears off.

We rode on a wide path on the eastern banks of the Celduin. Although much of the trading between Dorwinion and Dale was done with boats on the Celduin, there was quite a lot of coming and going on horse and on foot, too. Thus there were well-maintained paths on either side of the Celduin. But even so we did not meet anyone on the path, and on the plains to the east there were only a few scattered villages. All in all, Middle-earth was indeed sparsely populated three hundred years into the Fourth Age. The conditions of climate and weather were harsh, the quality of the soil and the yield of crops was not enough to feed an increasing population. But at the moment there was peace through all the lands, and the vile creatures that had threatened travellers and villages all through the Third Age were dwindling rapidly in their numbers. Not rapidly enough to save us from an attack on the High Pass, I mused, but rapidly enough that the distrust of the wild tribes in the east was more of a danger to us than orcs, dragons or trolls.

A week after we had left Esgaroth we came to the confluence of Celduin and Carnen. This mingling of rivers was quite a spectacle, because the Redwater was exactly what its name implies, red. It flowed down from the Iron Hills to the north, carrying dissolved iron and other metallic substances in its floods, which coloured the water of the river a stunning red. It was relatively easy to cross the Redwater; it was a smaller stream and not as swift as the Celduin. But the horses did not like the red water. I could not fault their taste. Their coats stayed reddish for several days and the water tasted pungently of iron. But for miles after the Carnen had met the Celduin, the Celduin's water stayed full of swirling colours, at first the true red of the Redwater, later a pale, pale pink which was truly beautiful.

Two days after we had left Esgaroth, the weather turned warm again, and travelling was nice and easy. Any idiot could have kept in the saddle of my good-natured Cloud, but she really took a liking to me, and there was no horse alive to ever give any trouble to an Elf. That way we made an easy forty miles a day on the level plains of Wilderland and the eastern steppes of Dale.

As we were approaching the inland sea, the Sea of Rhûn, the land on the western shores of the Celduin changed. We were coming close to Dorwinion, a warm and fertile hill country, where the Silvan Elves of old had procured their excellent red and white wines. Dorwinion was actually only a translation of 'land of wines'.

"I don't know how the people of Dorwinion fare nowadays," Elrohir told me. "The Dwarves prefer mead and beer, and most Men do, too. With the Elves gone, they will have to look for new markets, or turn to growing hops." And that was certainly an aspect of the Elves leaving Middle-earth no one has ever thought of before. "The wines the people from Dorwinion grew were really excellent … but I guess a people who are capable of making fine wines and selling them at a good profit will always manage." Elrohir had halted his horse and was looking across the Celduin towards the west, his gaze following the undulating hills of Dorwinion.

"I imagine there will be good wines in Aman," I said, trying to cheer Elrohir up. But he did not like to think of Aman, and he was frightened to think about whatever had happened to his brother.

The river was our guide as the lands grew more desolate towards the east; wide empty plains with high grasses, in which the wind created waves just like on the surface of a lake, stretched on and on to the horizon. We lit a large fire every night and made sure to tie down the horses securely. Sometimes at night the howling of wolves would drift towards us from the eastern plains. It was an eerie, feral and strangely melodic song of wilderness, touching my very soul, but at the same time making me shiver with primeval fears. I could see that Elrohir was not affected like that by the song of the wolves. He sat close to the fire, his eyes dark and staring off into the distance, but his ears betrayed a certain tension, and there was a certain almost feral cast to his features I had not noticed before.

"Do you understand their song?" I asked.

He turned his head, life and personality only gradually returning to his eyes. "Yes. They sing of hunt and freedom and the closeness of their pack. They sing about their lives and deaths on the wind-swept steppes."

"Do you miss your family?" I asked, and regretted it instantly; I had wanted to ask about Elrond and his mother for a long time, and while knowing better than to ask about Arwen, the question had now come out of its own accord.

But Elrohir did not seem hurt or discomforted by my impolite question. He merely sighed and thoughtfully pursed his lips. "Even for an Elf it has been a long time since we were all together, and we never shall be again, neither in Middle-earth nor in Aman.

"My mother was broken in body and spirit, when she sailed from the Grey Havens. My father had healed her wounds, but somehow he could not heal her. He was never the same afterwards, and when the power of Vilya, the ring of power entrusted into his care, finally waned, he … became very … fragile. I hope they are together now, whole and happy." He sighed. "But something in my soul tells me that it is not so. However, I have no way of knowing that until I myself sail into the Bay of Eldamar.

"Now, my sister, Arwen … she led a happy life, which was long and full and good. And though the end was hard for her to endure, she will join Aragorn in the Halls of Eru Ilúvatar and move with him beyond the circles of this world, an option which we – the Firstborn and beloved of the Valar – have not. Our immortality binds us to the circles of this world until the end of Eä."

He fell silent, obviously lost in memories. Seeing I had not committed the absolute faux-pas, I dared to ask yet another question I had always wanted to have answered.

"Do you remember your childhood? How is it for Elves to be children, to grow up?"

He grinned at me then, looking suddenly very young and care-free. "You remind me of Arwen, when she was only a little Elfling, forever asking questions about everything.

"Very well, I will tell you what I know. But it is not much; I have no children of my own, and my childhood is long past. Elves first awoke at the shores of the lake of Cuiviénen. The world was wild and dangerous then, and the Elves were – although immortal – were only few, 144 all in all, and not yet powerful. To give their children a chance to grow and survive, the Valar made the speed of development during our first years approximately the same as that of human children. But Arwen told me that Elvish toddlers are far less clumsy and not as prone to cry as human children, and that they are quicker to speak. The difference in aging only sets in at about three years of age, and in earlier times even later.

"I grew up in Rivendell … Elladan and I were always in difficulties, playing jokes on our elders, hiding in the forests, trying to leave the valley on our own. Later Aragorn was with us almost all the time … I dare say, if my father has any grey hairs, it's our doing."

Looking into his bright eyes I felt as if I saw three lithe young bodies hunting through dark woods, sword blades gleaming in the light of a full moon, dark shapes drawing back, hot, black blood gushing from deadly wounds, young warriors returning victorious … I lifted my gaze and suddenly found my heart pounding madly, the distance between Elrohir and myself only a touch, easily bridged by desire. For a long moment I thought I could feel the slow pulsing of heated blood in his veins just as clearly as in my own. Then the moment passed and I turned away, blushing.

**ooo**

Six days after we had passed the confluence of Carnen and Celduin, we reached the Bay of Dorwinion at the Sea of Rhûn. There was no longer any settlement close to the Bay. In earlier ages there had been a rich market town on the western side of the bay, trading wine, fish and horses, but evil men and creatures – Easterlings, orcs, trolls, dragons and wargs – had plagued the city for centuries, until it was finally deserted during the War of the Ring, and it had never been rebuilt. And even if there had been a town there, we wanted to go to the empty lands of the Far East, where no men travelled and the stars were strange. Also, it would have been an unnecessary risk to cross the strong currents of the Celduin so close to the sea.

But we decided to rest for a day or two at the shores of the warm turquoise Sea of Rhûn.  
The beaches of the Bay of Dorwinion were tinged in a pale pink colour, remnants of the pigments flooding down from the Iron Hills with the Redwater. In those balmy summer's days, the beaches and the soft waves of the sea were almost unbelievably beautiful.

Having said as much, what came to pass was probably inevitable.

The night was not one of the warm and easy summer nights we had enjoyed so far, but a night of thunder and rain, with hot winds driving high waves at the pink beaches of Dorwinion. The horses were hobbled at some distance from the fire in the shelter of the dunes. We had lit the fire in a sandy hollow between two high dunes, out of the wind, but with a view across the sea. I loved the dunes. They reminded me of holidays spent in France as a small child, discovering immense deserts in a dune and whole mountain ranges in a partially submerged rock. Here I felt almost as playful and care-free as the small child I had been then, and it was more beautiful. Tarred roads had led to all the beaches I had ever visited on earth, and there had always been rusted waste bins and the stubs of cigarettes in the sand, and the lights of houses and cars close by.

This was different.

This was wild, this was primeval, this was completely reckless.  
And when the winds picked up, and the waves begun to crest with white foam, I felt my heart beating faster. A stormy night out on the beach … did you never dream of such freedom?  
I sat in the soft sands close to the fire, huddled in my grey cloak, smelling the salty air and the wind, feeling exhilaration begin to course through my blood. I felt like shouting for joy at the wildness of the night, like losing myself to the blind ecstasy of the storm.

The wind grew cold in this stormy night. I shivered as a gust of wind caught at my hair and swept it away from my neck.

"Are you cold?" Elrohir asked.

"No, no," I protested. "I'm fine."

"That is not true, you are shivering. Come, sit next to me, you do not have to be cold."

I did not know how to object, and I did not really want to, either. So he sat down next to me, to share his warmth. I felt my heart race, as I inhaled his fragrant, male scent and experienced the powerful closeness of his body. The storm was blowing around us, towering waves with bright foamy crests rushed towards the shore in front of us, and I felt my heart beat like a drum, a rhythm spreading through my whole body, from my toes to the top of my head.

Suddenly Elrohir turned his face towards me, and his lips were almost touching my ears, as he whispered in a low, husky voice, "I can smell your desire. It is like the sweetest perfume, intoxicating with your abandon."

I felt myself blushing hotly, my heart skipping a beat. "I – I – I'm sorry, I can't help myself. Just … go away."

I tried to turn away, but cool and slender fingers caught my chin, turning me around to face the Elf, and his eyes were blazing like the stars up in heaven. "Would you mind very much, if I did not go away? If I … maybe … did this?"

And he suddenly placed his lips against mine. I felt a power like lightning strike through me, robbing me of speech and control, rendering me completely helpless. My fingers somehow found their way to his face, caressing his cheekbones, travelling to the delicate points of his ears, just as one of his hands enveloped my neck and the other stroked down to the small of my back. Sighing softly into his mouth I let myself go, to the winds of the summer storm roaring around us, to the desire rushing through our blood.

I sank back into the soft pink sands of the beach of Dorwinion, as capable fingers swiftly removed my clothes, proceeding to stroke and caress my breasts. Elrohir knelt above me, shedding his clothes in a single, fluid movement, revealing a body of smooth, pearly white perfection that seemed to gleam with a cool internal light, the grace of the Firstborn apparent in his love. I did not dare to reach for him, but he bent down to me, running his hands over my breasts, my sides, my hips and deeper, again and again, until I was crying out against his breast, losing any notion of myself in this dance of flesh and wind.

When I thought I could take it no longer, he finally filled me, smooth and strong. I felt as if I were drowning in his white light of power and my moaning must have travelled high and far with the wind, as our boundaries dissolved and we became one with the waves, rocking against the shores of each other's body.

I fell asleep in the crook of his arm, tightly wrapped in his embrace, my legs tangled with his.  
Our lips almost touching, the sigh of our mingled voices followed me into the depth of exhausted slumber.

_My love, my life, my every breath …_


	12. Dr Jim Watkins 2

**Disclaimer: **Star Trek belongs to Gene Roddenberry and is it Warner Bros.? No idea, I'm no trekkie, anyway, I own nothing, I make no money, I _have _no money, so there …

* * *

**oooOooo**

**12. Dr. Jim Watkins (2)**

He looked at Jarro McCourt's smiling face and asked himself whatever she was doing in the game at the moment. About half an hour ago what exactly she had been doing had been pretty obvious, and he had experienced a sudden, inexplicable burst of jealousy.

He was not a neurologist or something fancy like that, but only a very junior member of the emergency room at one of the large hospitals in London. It was not a very well paid job, so when his superior had asked who would be willing to take on this additional job on Saturdays, he had agreed. Not because of the promise of participating in important research or the possible glory that would be connected with discovering a new dimension not only of computer games and the knowledge about the human mind, but simply because it was an easy job and extra money.

And now he was staring at the print outs that captured the progress of this new computer game and watched how funky lines on a screen told him that this pretty girl was shagging some figments of her imagination.

How sick could this world get?

He had tried the game himself, doing a short game of Star Trek. He had been a smashing Mr. Riker, and the game had felt as real as anything. It had certainly been more interesting to play than to watch other people play …

But, oh well, he was very well paid for the few hours of watching the test runs, and it was easy work, just watching the monitors, checking pulse, blood pressure and stuff like that.

He looked back at the smiling face of Ms. McCourt.

He would take a heart. He _would_ ask her out to dinner.  
Now he smiled himself, imagining a lovely dinner and joking about the game, teasing her a little about what she had experienced. Promising to be even better in real life … No, he told himself, reining in his fantasy. That would not do at all! But he _would_ gather up his nerve and ask her out. He would do that, he promised himself.

He left the room to look at another tester.


	13. Wild Tribes of the East

**13. Wild Tribes of the East**

I inhaled a foreign, spicy scent, feeling enveloped in warmth, feeling so absolutely relaxed, and whole. I felt whole. For the first time in my life I felt whole, anchored.  
I opened my eyes and looked into starlit grey eyes and at a very tender smile.

Oh my. I felt Elrohir's arm tighten around me.

_I feel it, too. _

It was almost as if I could hear his thoughts.

_But you can. _

_Really? _

_Really._

I pressed closely against the long, strong lines of his body, feeling a tingling sensation spread all over my skin. I buried my face against his side, delighting in the fragrance of his body once more.  
_And do you hear my thoughts, too?_ I thought at him, allowing my lips to touch his skin.  
_Indeed I do._  
Gentle hands lifted my face up to his lips. A lithe, yet muscular body moved against my own.

Love such as this outshines even the most glorious sunrise.

When we finally rose the sun was already high in the sky. The storm had dissipated, and the sea was calm, so had a leisurely swim in the green waves of the Sea of Rhûn. Holding on to each other, we moved weightlessly with the waves. We jumped into each other's arms across the white crests of the waves like children, we laughed and kissed and fooled around with no thought of the future.

**ooo**

In the evening we lit the fire between the dunes again. But this night was different. Only the slightest, softest breeze came to us from the sea, caressing our cheeks, lifting a tendril of hair.

I sat leaning against Elrohir's shoulder. His left arm curled around my waist, my legs lay across his lap, while his right hand stroked the length of my thigh and the bones of my knee.  
I felt our hearts beat as one, and in my mind I felt the presence of his thoughts, as if his soul were touching me in an invisible embrace.

"I come from far away," I finally said.

"I know," he answered softly, his right hand intertwining with my fingers. "But that does not mean that you do not belong here."

"I don't know if that is possible," I whispered, my voice choked, tears burning at the corners of my eyes.

"You will know." Elrohir lifted my hand to his lips. "Do not worry about fate. What will come to pass, will come to pass. Enjoy the night. The weather is already changing. Autumn draws near."

Elrohir let himself sink back into the warm sand of the dunes, drawing me with him. I let my lips drift slowly across his cheeks, along his jaws, across his throat, down to his collarbone, my hands trailing feathery touches down his sides, until I felt as if I were sinking into moonlight come alive. His strong slender fingers travelled down to my waist, gripped me tightly, then turned me around, so that he came to lie on his left side next to me, his right leg curled around my right leg, bringing him almost unbearably close to me. He propped himself up on his left elbow, locking his starlit gaze with me, drowning me in the depth of his beautiful eyes.

The wind blew the long, silky tresses of his dark hair across my breasts and I started to shiver uncontrollably. His fingers reached up to my temples, tenderly stroking a sweaty tendril of my humble brown curls back from my face. Then his lips found mine, and within moments we were floating, joined together, one soul, one body, one mind, lost in the light of love.

**ooo**

We rode on the next day. Elrohir had been right about the weather. The heat of the summer had waned over night, and although it was not cold and there was no rain, the sky was grey and the wind was cool, blowing from the eastern plains, smelling of dust and wilderness.

The riding was beautiful today. We had to pass the Sea of Rhûn, and so we followed the shores of the turquoise inland sea, taking winding paths across the softly sloping dunes.  
Leaving the Bay of Dorwinion behind us, the sandy beaches lost the pink tinge of irony red pigmentation, turning the more common sandy colour.

I rode behind the Elf, watching him not very surreptitiously. A grey rider under grey skies he seemed to me an image from a painting come alive. He sat on his proud grey horse straight and tall and of a grace transcending mortal elegance by far. His hair flowed in the wind, the shimmering grey cloak billowed around his slender figure, the golden fastening his cloak gleamed green and golden at his collar bone. He was standing out in stark relief against the drifting clouds, the white dunes fading in undulating hills away into a dusty haze, the subdued green of marram grass and sea rushes and the darkened turquoise and emerald of the waves the only colours in this scene of white and grey.

I was losing all sense of reality.

And I did not give a damn.

**ooo**

After four days we reached the north-eastern edge of the Sea of Rhûn and then left its turquoise waves behind us, continuing into the east. The Lands of Rhûn were vast empty plains, covering more leagues than the American prairies ever had. It was a harsh and lonely country, with cold, strong winds blowing across, moving the long grasses of the plains into waves of green and dusty gold. Elrohir told me that the tribes sometimes called these plains "Sea without Water". Watching the flowing motion of the grass as far as the eye could see, I could understand this sentiment. It did look almost like an ocean, and not like grassy plains or steppes at all.

"What are the Eastern tribes like?" I called out to Elrohir. He reined in his horse and nudged it to walk next to me.

"Some say they are primitive, but that is not true," he said. "Evil peoples hiding at the edges of their country and fighting for the enemy of the third age gave them an undeserved bad name in the West. The wild tribes of the Far East have never fought for the enemy. They pay tribute to none, and never have. They are very much like this land. They are wild and free and proud."

"You forgot dangerous," a dark, heavily accented voice commented.

I jumped at that, only barely maintaining control of my mount. For all I knew appearing out of thin air about twenty men in wide flowing robes were suddenly rising from the grass in a circle around us. The speaker was a tall man in blue robes with eyes dark as coal and a complicated tattoo of chevrons covering the brown skin of his cheekbones.

Elrohir bowed to the leader. "And dangerous, of course."

"What do you want in the Sea without Water, son of the stars? Your soul is calling you back to the waters of the West." The piercing gaze of the headman left Elrohir and moved to me. I felt an almost burning sensation across my forehead. Was there more to his gaze than simple curiosity?

Elrohir slid gracefully from the back of his stallion. I dismounted, too. Not gracefully, but without falling flat on my face. I grabbed the reins of Cloud, feeling nervous sweat gather on my palms.  
Elrohir was perfectly calm and unperturbed at this meeting. He turned towards the man of the tribes. The Elf was taller, and more slender than the Easterling.

"My name is Elrohir, son of Elrond-_Peredhel_. My companion is Jarro, a ranger from the North. It is a pleasure to meet one of the noble tribes of Rhûn." He held up his hands, his palms turned towards the headman.

"I am Umbra, and my tribe are the Children of the Clouds. We roam from the Sea of Rhûn to the Eastern River." He touched the palms of the Elf with his own. He only inclined his head towards me. Probably not a matriarchal society. A formal greeting from the leader. Then they would perhaps not try to kill us.

"We would like to ask your permission to travel through your lands," Elrohir asked politely.

"Perhaps I will even grant it. But such negotiations should not be carried on out in the open. Certain rituals of politeness should be observed. Or strangers might start thinking us primitive." There was a definite sparkle of amusement in his dark eyes. Humour is always a good trait in a leader, it makes life so much easier. The headman continued, "I would like to invite you, son of the stars, and your woman, the one from the outer world, to accompany us to our tents. We can eat and drink together and get to know each other and talk about why you entered our lands and what it is you seek to find."

Outer world? How in heaven and hell did this … chieftain come up with that description for me?

Elrohir smiled and inclined his head gracefully. "We accept your invitation."

The headman turned and we followed him, leading our horses by the reins. The other men spread out around us. A guard? An invitation we could not refuse?

We walked about half an hour in a northern direction, and then found ourselves suddenly looking into a slight hollow in the level ground of the plains. Below the level of the high grasses on the plains above the hollow some twenty to thirty low tents in earthen colours were put up here. To the human eye the settlement would remain invisible until one was stumbling right into it. An exceedingly clever camouflage, I thought. Milling about the tents were some goats and small, sturdy horses with bristly manes, watched by scrawny yellow dogs. At the centre of the settlement was a large fire place.

The headman motioned a small dark boy to come nearer. "He will take your horses."

Elrohir nodded and relinquished his reins to the boy. I stroked Cloud's soft nose, and then let myself be relieved of her reins, too. We were led to the fireplace and a thick, richly coloured carpet was spread out for us to sit on. Elrohir slid to the ground in a fluid motion, which made it look as if he had no bones at all in his body. The headman followed suit on a bit of faded blue carpet in front an especially ornate tent, which was adorned with feathers and small colourful banners fluttering in the wind. I sat down more slowly, taking a cross-legged seat next to Elrohir. Six of the other men took seats around the fire place, too; the others vanished between the tents. Veiled women brought goblets with water and wine, and large brass plates with sweet dates and creamy white cheese and thin, crispy loaves of bread.

The headman took a goblet of water and raised it in turn to all four directions of the world, and lastly towards the sky. Elrohir mirrored the actions of the headman, so I did the same.  
The water was cool and clear. There had to be a hidden spring somewhere close by.  
Then the headman took one of the loaves and broke it, keeping a piece for himself, he offered the rest to Elrohir, who broke off another piece, then handed the loaf to me. I broke off an edge, too, and then carefully transferred the remaining part to the large brass plate sat on the ground between us.  
We ate the bread.

Then the headman smiled at us. "Now that there is peace between us, we can talk."

Remember never to travel anywhere without knowing how to establish peaceful relations with the natives, I thought. But on the whole, this wild and dangerous tribe of the Eastern Lands did not really seem inimical towards us strangers from the West. Probably because of Elrohir being an Elf. I liked the title the headman had given him. "Son of stars", that sounded even more beautiful than "Elf".

"Indeed we can, friend Umbra," Elrohir said, taking another sip of water, waiting for the headman to take the lead in the conversation.

"Well then, friend Elrohir," the headman said, and I thought I detected a hint of amusement in his voice. "Not many strangers travel into the Far East. What may it be that a son of the western stars is searching in the east?"

Elrohir was very still, and his eyes were dark with anguish when he answered. "I am looking for my twin-brother, Elladan, son of Elrond-Peredhel. He wanted to travel to the east and has not returned. We heard rumours about strange Elves living far away in the east, near the Forgotten Mountains. I hope to find them. I hope that they have news from my brother."

The headman studied Elrohir's face thoughtfully. "I have not heard about another son of the western stars travelling through our lands. If your brother came through Rhûn, I would know. But there have always been tales about the forgotten children of the stars living in the woods at the feet of the Forgotten Mountains. Maybe your brother travelled far to the north, where my people never go. But even if you find him, do you believe he can help you? The legend about the choice of the Half-Elven is known to my people. The children like it. We use it to teach the young ones about the quality of choices and decisions. It seems to me that with all the wisdom of your many centuries, you have yet to understand this lesson."

Elrohir looked away, his eyes gazing into the distance. His voice was full of sorrow, when he finally answered, "You may be right."

"Then there are Elves in the East?" I asked, my curiosity overcoming politeness and fear.

"Well, little one," the headman smiled at me, amusement obvious on his face. "There have always been legends about children of the stars, those, who you call Elves, living far away in the eastern woods and mountains. They are called the forgotten ones, because it is said that they never went into the west, and were finally forgotten by the stars, and all their western kin. Though perhaps not by the One. And we have a saying about legends and stories: where there is smoke, there may be fire. I have never seen them. But my tribe does not venture so far to the north."

I was intrigued. Forgotten Elves? If they really existed, how could it have happened that they were forgotten by the Valar? _And why? _

Elrohir was staring at the dark skinned nomad pensively. He had not heard about Elves in the east either. He had not believed the rumours I had heard from the Dwarf, not being absolutely free from the customary suspicious attitude of Elves towards Dwarves. But he did believe this wild man from the eastern plains. And he did not think it was only a legend. "May we have your permission to travel your lands? I would like to search for these eastern Elves. If they really exist, as you believe they do, perhaps my brother is with them. Even if he cannot help me, I want to see him again, before I … choose."

The headman inclined his head, the harsh lines of his face softening to an expression of understanding. "I hope you find your brother. Being able to bid your fare-well eases the passing."

"I don't know. Maybe. Thank you for your permission. I would be honoured if you accepted this gift in return," Elrohir said, producing a small box from the inside of his cloak. The headman accepted it and opened it. Inside was many-faceted jewel set in a golden base. "It shows the approaching weather, taking on the colour of clouds and sky."

"Ahhh," sighed the headman, his voice dark with reverence. "A kingly gift, my lord. May the stars shine on your way. And yours, my lady." He nodded to me. "But I hope you will stay for the night, some singing and dancing seems in order, to say good-bye to new-found friends."

We stayed for a long night of tales and songs and dances around the bonfire on the village square. We were served spicy dishes of goat meat and chickpeas, sticky rice and strong red wine. The music was foreign – keening one-stringed instruments, lilting pipes and rolling drums with tingling brass coins at their edges – but strangely beautiful and suited to the harsh, melancholy landscape of these windswept plains.

Our hands were clasped tightly and we were drawn into warm embraces of fare-well after the feast, but in the morning no one appeared to take any notice of our leaving, waving us good-bye or affording us any other gesture of leave-taking. After the warmth of feeling I had encountered among these strange people during the previous night, I was more than a little confused by that behaviour and looked back at the small settlement of tents in their sheltered hollow, feeling disappointed by our new friends.

Elrohir – reading my thoughts once again – explained why. "They believe you _can_ never meet again. Even if their men return, they will be changed by what they have seen and done. And more often then not, anyone who leaves will never return at all."


	14. Dark Thoughts

**14. Dark Thoughts**

As we rode away from the tent village of the wild tribe of Rhûn, we were both silent, each occupied with dark thoughts. We rode far this day, although it was difficult to tell the distance in this wide and empty country; every mile looked just the same. We stopped twice to give the horses some rest, but did not talk to each other, musing over the things the headman had told us.

Finally the sun set in a huge blood red ball of fire, colouring the waving sea of grass in the most beautiful shades of violet and orange. The wind was cool and smelled of rain, and it was strong, rustling the grasses of the plains until they sounded almost like waves rushing to a distant shore. We had no wood to make a fire from, but Elrohir gathered a heap of grass and icky brown stuff, some dried up waste of steppe animals. But I did not know what kind of animal had dropped them; we had not seen any large animals up until now, only birds of prey wheeling high above us. The fire stank with the burned dung, but it was warm in the cold of the night. And in the wee hours of the morning a blood curdling scream disturbed the silence of the plains. I woke with my heart racing, trying to see where the scream had come from, to locate the danger … But Elrohir put his arm around me and drew me into a close embrace.

"Don't be afraid," he whispered. "That was only a sabre tooth tiger. His hunt was successful, he won't come for us."

I let out my breath somewhat shakily, trying no to think of any hungry brothers or sisters the sabre tooth might have. But before I could worry any more about wild beasts gathering around us, the Elf gathered me against his chest, and as I inhaled the spicy scent of his skin, all other thoughts were driven from my mind …

When I woke early in the morning, Elrohir was already up. He was sitting a few feet away, caressing the soft nose of his stallion, which had stepped up behind the Elf and was now hanging his large grey head across Elrohir's shoulder. It almost looked as if they were deep in conversation. And perhaps they were; Elves, after all, were known for talking to all living things – be they tree, animal or little folk. Elrohir appeared to be much more relaxed than the day before, but his eyes were the dark, dark shade I had learned to link with inner turmoil and anguish.

I got up and scrubbed myself with an edge of a wetted towel, using the precious water sparingly. Then I took up the cup of tea Elrohir had set aside for me and slowly walked up towards the Elf and his horse. Lightning snorted at my approach, spitting in my direction, but he did not try to bite me. I sat down across from Elrohir and sipped at my tea.

"Hey," I finally said softly.

Elrohir raised an amused eyebrow. "Hey?"

"You seem so far away. Do you want to talk?" I crossed my legs and crouched down more comfortably, crunching down on a piece of lembas. It still tasted good, melting on the tongue. The wind picked up the broad Western leaf and hurled it up and away.

Elrohir sighed. "Not really. Do you want to talk?"

I considered his question. If I had any notion where to begin … But it did not seem the right moment … to discuss … whatever. In the middle of nowhere and not yet any sign of either Elrohir's brother or the mysterious Elves of the East. I smiled hesitantly at the Elf. "Not really."

I finished my tea and the piece of lembas and got up. Cloud was already waiting for her morning treat, careful brushing and a small lump of _lembas_ I always kept for her. I touched the soft coat and warm skin of the horse, inhaling the comfortable horse smell of grass and dust and animal. The mare whickered softly and thudded her nose softly against my shoulder, as if she sensed my moodiness and wanted to comfort me. Her liquid dark eyes seemed to ask, "Hey, human, what's the matter?"

Good question.  
Next question.

It would be easier to say what was not the matter.

I saddled Cloud and packed my things back in my pack, securing the pack and the carefully rolled sleeping bag to my saddle.

"I'm ready," I called out to Elrohir, who had been patiently waiting for me – being, as usual, much swifter at everything.

We rode on.

Three days later I looked at dark clouds obscuring the north-eastern horizon. Elrohir halted his horse and followed my gaze.

"Those mountains are even higher than the Misty Mountains," Elrohir commented, staring off into the distance.

"Mountains?" I asked, turning in the saddle. "Those Elvish eyes of yours are really keen! I thought those dark shapes were merely clouds, bad weather to make travelling more fun."

"No, those are mountains, very high and cleft mountains. They are the Orocarni, the forgotten mountains of the east. There were some Elves in Rivendell, when I was younger, who thought the east had drowned in the upheavals preceding the Third Age, turning the Orocarni into islands. Elladan never believed that. He always wanted to go and discover whether this tale was true or not." Elrohir fell silent, his eyes dark with memories of his brother.

"We could stop here for the night," I suggested. Apart from the shadowy forms to the North-East, the landscape had not changed at all during the last days, rolling green and grey plains as far as my mortal eyes could see.

Elrohir did not respond but slid off his horse, then tugging loose the saddle. I raised my eyebrows slightly, but did not comment on his behaviour.

I dismounted and unsaddled Cloud. Then I cleaned her hooves and brushed her until her coat shone almost like porcelain. Finally I fastened a long rope to her tether and secured it with a stake hammered into the ground. Lightning was already prevented from running off in a similar fashion. Although the stallion did return, when the Elf called him in the morning, Lightning took his own sweet time doing so – reducing the Elf lord to more human methods to control his mount's whereabouts. A few yards off the crippled remains of tree were visible in a slight hollow of the plains and promised a real fire for tonight. Elrohir was already walking towards the hollow, his pack slung across his shoulders, a certain tension to his movements. Three days of barely speaking and brooding had not helped. All this time to think had not soothed my mind either.

I had begun to have dreams for the first time in Middle-earth. Every night I dreamed almost the same thing, over and over and over again. I was walking away from darkness, towards a white, glowing light, a light which reminded me of the white light of love, which surrounded me when Elrohir and I were making love. I was walking or running towards the light, fleeing from grabbing tentacles of darkness when I would suddenly stumble and fall into a hole, falling and falling and when I hit the ground I would wake, drenched in sweat.

The depression in the level ground of the plains was a good place for a camp. It provided at least some shelter from the icy winds of the plains, which penetrated even the magical cloaks of Lórien. With the branches of the dead tree Elrohir got a real fire going, not the stinking, smoking excuses of fire we had had during the last days. Under a rock Elrohir had even discovered a trickle of water. A spring surfaced here, which explained the sunken in formation of the ground and the presence of the dead tree. There was more water here than for miles around, enough for a tree to grow and die. I shook my head against my morose thoughts. There was no reason for me to feel so blue. It was only Elrohir's worries rubbing off on me.

I sighed and decided to start with dinner, just to get my mind off things. Elrohir was off surveying the area – making sure no evil surprises lurked in close proximity of our camp. I got out our pot and filled it with water from the spring. The water was not really clear, so it would have to be boiled thoroughly to be safely consumed by a human being. Then I rummaged through our packs and set out the other supplies necessary to cook a thick, hearty soup: a cloth wrapped ball of dried broth and vegetables, dried noodles and dried strips of venison. The strips of dried meat did not look very appealing, more like something a dog would like to chew upon, but Elrohir had shown me how to soak them and cut them into small pieces to add to a soup or something. The result was – if not exactly nouvelle cuisine – quite enjoyable.

When Elrohir finally returned from looking at the area, the soup was almost ready and smelling very nice at least. I had added some herbs I liked, savoury and a touch of rosemary.

"Hey," Elrohir said softly, smiling at me with a somehow sad and wistful smile, in one word telling me about his sadness and his fading hopes.

"Hey," I answered. I knew he could read my heart without even this tiny word, but he would not, respecting my privacy. And how could I ever explain? How could I prevent the inevitable? "Soup's on," I said, trying to sound cheerful.

Soon we were spooning up the thick soup in companionable silence. The spicy warmth of the soup dispelled much of the worry and uneasiness, which had accompanied me during the last few days. In some ways, we are only animals, after all; even the darkest day looks up with something warm and comforting in the stomach. I cleaned our bowls and the pot and stacked everything together again, to pack away quickly in the morning. Then I returned to the fire, sitting down cross legged on my sleeping bag, pulling my cloak around me. I was warm and comfortable, the taste of herbs still in my mouth. The dancing flames of the fire did not fail to soothe me even further. Probably early childhood conditioning, I grinned at myself. When I was a little child, my parents had sometimes gone camping with me and my brother on weekends in the summer. We had always had a great fire in the evenings, watching the flames, telling stories and jokes, singing songs to the bad guitar playing of my mother. Or a primeval instinct of my ancestors, the cavemen, the knowledge of fire and safety encoded in our very genes.

Whatever the reason, the tension I had been feeling drained away, my mind growing calm.  
Elrohir seemed to have regained some measure of calm, too. He was sitting on the other side of the fire, his eyes dark, but filled with the dancing shadows of the flames.

Suddenly he spoke, his voice dark and husky, "It's the choice of the half-elven. A gift of the Valar to Luthien's kin. We may choose between mortal life and death and Elvish immortality. Now is the time for my brother and me to make this choice. This earth is changing, the firstborn are gone from this world, and its magic is fading." He sighed. "My father and his brother had to choose, too. You know, his brother chose to become a mortal. Even though Elros grew very old, and my father and his brother met often, their bond was broken by the choice, their roads for ever parted. And I know that there never was a day my father did not remember his brother and grieve for him. I remember, when Aragorn was very young, a boy still, how my father used to look at him, seeing the shadow of his brother in Aragorn. And although this comforted him, it was also painful to him." He fell silent again, looking away from the fire into the darkness gathering around us. "When Elladan told me he had to go away to clear his mind, I think I knew what this meant, deep in my heart. But I could not believe he would go without telling me, without even saying good-bye … Jarro, we were born in Middle-earth. This is our home, not Aman. We have never been there, and it is here our sister is buried, here where our nieces and nephew were born and died. Oh, Valar, I won't even be able to see his grave!" His voice broke, and there were tears running down his cheek.

I could not think of anything to say. I remained sitting there, looking at the lonely Elf grieving for a brother he would perhaps never see again. Who was it, who had said that immortality offered a very long time for grief and regrets? Some time later I rose from my seat and walked around the fire to Elrohir. I slid down to the ground next to him and wordlessly put my arm around him. I felt the strange connection between us flare to life, creating a bond of comfort and warmth between us. I felt Elrohir slowly relax against me.

We remained like that until the fire had burned to glowing embers, leaning against each other, comforting each other, keeping away the darkness from our souls.

**ooo**

We started out early the next morning, riding towards the shadows of the forgotten mountains. Elrohir had given me a great gift of trust, telling me the troubles of his heart last night. I felt I should do the same. But what could I tell him? Something like "I come from another world and this is only a game and you are not real and I am not real either"? This did not only sound ridiculous to me, and would make a mockery of him trusting me with his pain, I did not really believe it anymore myself. I was slowly losing the sense of the Jarro McCourt I had been in London weeks and weeks ago.

One reason was, of course, this amazing feeling I shared with Elrohir. It was … _magical_. It was more than the sexual aspects of love, although I had never known love and desire like that. It was a bond. With every day that passed, I felt closer to his soul, his mind. But it was this place, too. Not only these wild, free plains, but all of Middle-earth I had seen so far. The mountains, rivers and forests, the silence, which was never disturbed by the noise of a car or a plane, the brightness of the stars… In England I had never felt any desire to go back to the roots, to go back to nature. My brother had been the one to go trekking and hiking, to do real live role playing games. I had tugged along. Although I had always loved to read fantasy novels, and had accompanied my brother on more than one of his stranger outings, I had always been quite content with the real world.

I sighed, softly nudging Cloud to speed up behind Lightning.

Quite content. Perhaps that was the reason. I had always been only quite content. I had never felt truly happy, I had never felt any calling, and I had been so easily bored and disgusted with everything I had done and everyone I had been with.

But here, I felt alive. More alive than ever before.

I could never explain all of this. And explaining would not help, either.

The game would soon be over.


	15. The Orocarni

**A/N:** "R" for language. The situation called for less than polite expressions.

* * *

**oooOooo**

**15. The Orocarni**

I dreamed again. In my dream I was back in my flat in London. I was moving about the rooms, opening and closing doors as if I was looking for something, or someone. But I knew I was all alone. I had never been more alone. The feeling of loneliness and loss was a physical pain, a pain gnawing at my very bones, eating me up from deep inside.

I woke from the sound of my weeping. I was shivering violently, and my cheeks were hot with tears. Suddenly strong arms were turning me around, tender hands caressing my wet cheeks and drying my tears, and I was pulled into a tight embrace, away from the nightmares.

I felt the warmth of his body, inhaling the spicy scent of his skin, the strange fragrance of his silky hair, which always smelled subtly of herbs. Only very gradually I relaxed in Elrohir's embrace, allowing myself to be soothed by his love. I felt the soft sigh of his breath against my neck, feeling the iron strength of muscles underneath the litheness of his slender arms – how could this be only an illusion?

**oooOooo**

The forgotten mountains day by day stripped their cloak of clouds, turning from barely discernible hints of shadows on the horizon into rugged mountain ranges with great white peaks of glaciers. They were at least as tall as the Misty Mountains, if not taller, their summits reaching to touch the sky itself, often veiled by clouds.

As we rode on, vast forests slowly grew visible at the feet of the mountains. Soon we would leave the freedom of the Eastern plains for the unknown depths of the Eastern jungles.

We reached the edge of the forest in the evening of the ninth day after we had turned away from the Sea of Rhûn. This was not the light mixture of leave trees and needle trees I had encountered in Eryn Lasgalen, though I could see that there were oaks and firs and other kinds of trees I recognized. But the wood felt – breathed – differently. There was an ancient, feral feel to this forest. These were wild woods, which had never been tamed by men, with no paths and roads carved through their thickets for travel and trade.

I recalled the descriptions of Fangorn in the books, and I thought that these dark forests at the feet of the Forgotten Mountains felt similar – wild and dark and untamed. But there was no sense of enmity. These woods had been as forgotten as the mountains looming above them by the peoples of Middle-earth, and the wild tribes of the plains did not come here.

I had gathered fallen, dead branches for our fire, keeping in mind that these trees would not like me to cut off their living limbs any more than the trees of Fangorn had liked that… and the orcs had not live to tell the tale, when the trees had had enough back then. Respect your fellow men, elves and trees… I thought, grinning slightly. A trip to Middle-earth to open your mind, a new method to teach and improve soft skills. "Experience the fellowship – train your team skills with Gandalf, Gimli and Frodo" – now that was a good slogan, wasn't it?  
When I returned to the place we had chosen to stay for the night, Elrohir was leaning against a tall oak tree, embracing the wide trunk, touching the tree with the full length of his body.  
What was he doing?

I put down the dead grey branches and silently started to build a fire. I had cleared a spot of earth and put some rocks around it, to keep the fire from spreading. Then I put twigs and dried moss and a bit of dry grass in its centre. I struck the flint and a bright spark jumped o the tinder, creating a small flickering flame and a bit of dark smoke. I blew softly at the flame, watching it take hold. When the twigs were burning steadily, I added one or two slender branches. The wood was dry and caught fire easily. Soon I had a fire going, which would last into the wee hours.

Elrohir was still communing with the tree. Yes, of course, the thought struck me. That had to be the explanation. The Elf tried to literally talk to the tree.

Somehow I felt drawn to Elrohir and the tree. Hesitantly I stepped up behind him. His body seemed to vibrate in tune with the wind in the leaves. Ready to draw back at the slightest shake of his head, I leaned against Elrohir's back and put my arms around his waist. Instead of stiffening and sending me away, he covered my arms with his and put my palms against the rough bark of the tree. "Lasto!" He whispered, and I closed my eyes.

A few minutes I sunk into the feeling of the Elf's slender, but muscular body pressed against me, feeling our blood course through our bodies to a shared rhythm of slowly beating hearts. Then I grew aware of the uneven texture of the bark under my hands, and a different rhythm started to spread through my palms into my body. It was not like the slowing or quickening pulse of life I knew from my body and from the Elf's body. It was more like a current, reminding me of the waves rushing to the shores of the Sea of Rhûn, a vibration, an incessant, barely noticeable rustle and groan of drinking and growing and swaying with the winds.

As I lost hold of my thoughts, I felt how this feeling of aliveness, of rhythm, spread out from this single tree. These woods were as vast as the plains of the East. If I had to put figures to the feeling of this ocean of trees I was sailing, I would say they stretched at least for eight hundred miles into the East, with a width of probably another two hundred miles.

Truly an ocean of trees. You can travel between thirty and forty miles a day, with a good horse and roads in a reasonably good condition. Even then you would need about three weeks to reach the Eastern edge of these woods. "Yes", I heard Elrohir sigh against the tree. "At least three weeks. And there are no roads."

Suddenly I felt the Elf turn away from the tree and would have stumbled and fallen, had he not caught me in his embrace again. But I stepped back from him, inhaling a shaky breath, trying to regain a sense of myself after this extraordinary experience.  
"You talked to the tree, didn't you?" I asked him.  
He lid down to the ground, leaning his back against the tree. "It was not really talking… I was trying to get a feeling from the tree, the woods; I tried to find out if Elves have been here."  
"And what did you find out? Have Elves been living here?" I asked, feeling excitement surge up and quicken my heart-beat.  
"Yes and no", Elrohir answered. "The tree – although it had no real voice of its own, was not awake, if you will – it knew the touch of the firstborn. Once Elves have been here and have sung to the trees. But that was long ago. We will have to go deep into the woods to find any real traces of them, if we find any at all."

But there was a bright light of hope in his eyes. Elves had been here! And whatever they were, as firstborn they were his kin.  
I had to clear my throat to ask another question. "How long have you been alone, you and your brother?"  
Elrohir looked at me with dark eyes lost in memories. "Since shortly after Aragorn's death. Celeborn led the last group of Elves living in Rivendell to the Grey Havens. I think it was the year 130 of the Fourth age, a few years after Legolas and Gimli sailed for Aman. Almost two hundred years."

He paused, obviously retracing the years in his mind.  
"Usually, centuries have little meaning for Elves. Time feels different for us, more like this sensation of ebbing and flowing you felt from the trees." He sighed, and a shadow of weariness passed over his face. "But I have to admit, waiting those two hundred years for our moment of choice, the years grew long for me. And never have I known days, weeks and months to pass so agonizingly as those five months waiting for my brother back in Rivendell."  
"We will find him. We are already really close." I tried to cheer him up.  
But his eyes remained dark. The Valar's choice promised doom and not blessing to him.

Elrohir's keen eyes discovered a path into the forest. It was a deer trail, not a real path, and we could not ride, but had to lead our horses behind us. The path was also winding, going back and forth between thickets and little clearings. We did not cover more than fifteen miles that first day in the forest, and I quickly lost any sense of direction. If things did not improve, we would spend months in this primordial jungle, not merely weeks.

The first night in the woods was uneasy. I had the feeling that the trees did not like our fire, even though we had again only used dead branches and twigs I had gathered from the ground and been careful to choose a spot without any roots directly underneath the earth. The night was not the silence I had grown accustomed to on the plains. There the only sound had been the sigh of the wind in the grass and only now and then the shock of a wild animal's cry.

In the depth of the forest there was whispering and rustling all around us, and from underneath the thick canopy of leaves and branches no stars were visible. I felt uncomfortably imprisoned by the walls of trunks and bushes gathering around us, the nightly sounds of animals hunting in the darkness all around us. I knew that there had probably been just as much "night life" out on the steppes, but everything was so much closer in here, and no room to run off.

When the sun shone in golden and green rays through the leaves the next morning, I felt stiff and my head was aching. My eyes were bleary and for the first time I felt like choking when I bit down on my piece of lembas. Elrohir was preoccupied with his thoughts, too, so breakfast was a silent affair, and when we resumed our twisted way through the forgotten jungles of the East, I longed for the freedom of the plains.  
But around noon things improved.

Elrohir found a real path. It was completely overgrown at times, but it was a real path, not a deer trail. "Elves made this road", he told me. "Long ago, and it has not been used for centuries, but it was made by Elves."

We were getting closer. Every day we were getting a little bit closer to the solution of the riddle. But would the solution be the solution for Elrohir's problem – or only turn him back to the point where he had started out from?

Even if we did find those mysterious Elves of the East between the Forgotten Mountains and the Forgotten Forests, there was a very good chance that they had never seen Elladan. Since the morning I had woken under that tree some miles north of Bree, I had gotten some idea of how vast this Middle-earth was. I had realized by now that even the swiftest Elf and the most keen-eyed ranger could spend years tracking someone down in all those leagues of wilderness.

Elladan had to feel the same pain at the Valar's choice as his brother, he had to have the same difficulties, if not more, when Elrohir was right and Elladan had been inclined to choose Middle-earth and a mortal life from the beginning. If he did not know how to tell his brother what he wanted to do, if he had decided to simply disappear until the deadline was over, all our searching would be in vain. Elladan must have been sure that Elrohir would not go looking for him. I could not believe that he would lure his brother into searching for him, risking trapping him in Middle-earth and dooming him unwillingly to a mortal life.

I frowned. And Elrohir had been doing just what his brother had expected him to do, patiently waiting at Rivendell, respecting his brother's wishes to reach his decision alone. As he would have accepted his brother's choice and would have gone away alone, come the day of their final choice.

Slowly a feeling of horror crept up inside of me. Elrohir would have waited in Rivendell until it was time to leave for Dol Amroth. He would have left Rivendell only to go there, hoping to meet his brother there, or to receive his farewell.

But then I had appeared on the scene. "When do we leave?" My words echoed in my mind.

Without my impulsiveness to rouse Elrohir from his Elvish stoicism, he would be on his way to Dol Amroth now, not haring around forgotten jungles in the East. Without my bloody, damned, stupid, uncalled for human interference, Elladan's plan would have worked perfectly.

And now as autumn was drawing near and winter was not far off, time was running short.

If we did not find Elladan and we did not make it back to the other side of the continent in time, Elrohir would have to stay in Middle-earth, stay here and die here without meaning to, whereas I could return to a life not burdened with choices like that.

Oh, fuck what had I done!  
Fuck, fuck, fuck!  
Guilt rose like bile in my throat, choking me.

If this had indeed been Elladan's plan, and with every step that took us deeper into the twilight of the forest I felt surer that it was, how could I undo my mistake in time?

Each step was now heavy on my heart, my temples throbbing painfully with the movement. How much time was left to mid-winter's solstice? How far to the East had we gone? How much time would he need to reach Dol Amroth?

The questions repeated themselves in my mind, over and over again, keeping the rhythm of Lightning's tail swishing back and forth a few feet in front of me. The answers, however, failed to come up.  
**  
**

**oooOooo**

At night, when I rested on my left side staring into the glowing embers of our dying camp fire, guilt was still on my mind. Elrohir's right hand, which was touching my skin just under my left breast, kept me awake, his touch creating a shivery tingling sensation running all over my body. Only tonight I could not enjoy it. Why had I gone to Rivendell in the first place? And what had made me suggest this foolish search?

It would have been better I had never set a foot out of Bree.

"But you did." Elrohir whispered against my neck, his sweet, soft breath making the tiny hairs stand up. I shivered against him.  
"But why?" I asked. "What if we don't find your brother? If you cannot return in time? If – " Elrohir's hand drifted up from my breast, to close my lips in a tender caress. "Why do you mortals always feel the need to understand everything? You came. That is the important thing. And I would never wish it to be any different. Even the Valar don't know the whole scheme of things. Indeed, there may be whole theme to the Ainulindalë not yet discovered by anyone safe the One. Who are we then, to try and understand the roads of destiny? What will be, will be. Now, hush, Jarro, melethríl-nîn. Sleep."

His hand left my mouth, trailing a lingering caress down between my breasts, and then drawing me closely against him. And as if he had cast a spell over me, my anxiety dissolved into drowsiness and I fell into a deep and dreamless slumber.

The path Elrohir had discovered improved as we moved on. Although it was still not broad enough to ride, we did not have many detours, fighting through dense thickets and thorn bushes, but steadily progressed, following the arc of the Orocarni in a north-eastern direction.

Elrohir's calm acceptance of whatever the future might hold had assuaged my feelings of guilt, even if I had not found an equivalent of his Elvish composure.

After a week I had become accustomed to the twilight of the woods and the whispering nights, ignoring the darkness of the forest with its thousand staring eyes as much as humanly possible. Elrohir knew many woodland songs from his mother, and he often sang for me in the evenings, the beautiful Sindarin words and his melodic dark voice lifting my heart.

About two weeks after we had entered the Forgotten Forests of the East, I was walking a few yards in front of Elrohir, who had had to slow down to soothe an irritated Lightning, the trees suddenly gave way and I stepped out into a sunlit meadow.

"Elrohir, will you look at this! A clearing! And a pool, a little stream!" I ran out into the sunshine towards the silvery surface of water I had glimpsed at the centre of the meadow.

To see the sky again, the sun, the drifting white clouds!

Belatedly I realized that an unexpected meadow might mean we had finally found the reclusive inhabitants of these jungles and started to look around, hoping to discover dwellings and perhaps, even people. But the grassy clearing lay quietly in the sunshine, the only noise the wind in the leaves and the burbling of the little stream.

Elrohir had reached the clearing in the meantime and turned his testy horse loose. Lightning had at once joined Cloud at the stream drinking deeply, his tail finally slowing down from his agitated motion. Elrohir, however, did not step out of the shadows from the trees, but was running swiftly from one of the huge trees lining the meadow to the next, peering up into the treetops.

"What is it, Elrohir? Is someone up there?" I ran over to him, silently cursing myself. If those mysterious Elves had lived in these woods, they had likely been silvan Elves, living not on the ground, where I had been looking, but up in the trees on flets or Talans, like the Elves of Lórien. And indeed, as I looked up the tree where Elrohir was standing just now, I found myself looking at several wooden platforms built between the trunk and the stout branches of the tree. Elrohir turned to me, his eyes full of wonder. "There is a whole city built up in those trees. Dwelling places for several hundred Elves. But they are empty, no one is here, they have left this place, and not very long ago. Three months perhaps, or four."  
"But why would they leave their city?" I asked, staring at the platforms in the treetop. I walked to the next tree, and in its top, too, I discovered wooden Talans and there was even a bridge leading from one tree to the next.

Elrohir looked at me, and he was just as confused as I was. "I don't know. There is no smell of sickness, no hint of danger, no remembered fear. They left according to their plans, without hurry, taking all their things, leaving only the flets. This is a very strange riddle indeed." He moved from tree to tree, circling the clearing once, then climbing swiftly one of the trees.  
After a moment I heard his voice call out to me from the top of a tree a few yards off. "I was right. They have not been gone for long, the Talans are still sound; not a winter has passed yet since they have moved on. And there is nothing left to tell us, who they were."  
He lightly leaped to the ground, walking towards me and taking my hand, looking around the clearing with a mystified expression on his face. "They were silvan Elves, and their way of building is different from both the galadhrim and the silvan Elves of Eryn Lasgalen. They are Elves, firstborn and kin, but the designs they use are strange to me and I don't understand their meaning."

I frowned and tugged at my right earlobe, thinking about his words. "If they have lived here for a very long time, and had no contact with the Western Elves, their culture would be different. Could that explain the differences?"  
Elrohir looked at me thoughtfully. "Only if they have been in the East for a very, very long time."  
And what constituted a very, very long time with firstborn and immortals? Forever?  
"Well, not quite forever", Elrohir had heard my stray thought and was grinning at me. "But almost forever. They must have been here before the world was changed, and the East was forgotten."  
"When was that?" I asked.  
"There is a legend among the Elves", Elrohir said slowly, as if he did not quite believe his own words. "There is a legend that in the first age, when Elves first woke at the shores of the lake of Cuiviénen, there were deep, wild woods at the northern edge of the lake, beautiful woods, which at once became dear to the Elves. But the lake was emptied in the first upheaval of the world, and all the lands were changed. And the Valar called the Elves into the West."

I waited for Elrohir to continue, holding my breath. He looked at the meadow, the trees with their homely platforms hidden by the leaves and back at me, his eyes still filled with wonder.  
"But not all of the Elves, who had originally awoken at the Cuiviénen reached Aman. There are many stories about what happened to them. Some of them dark and evil. But there is one story, which was told by my mother's people… it said that there was a group of Elves, who never left the wild woods of the Cuiviénen, and who eventually lost their lives when the world was changed." He fell silent, and this time I could read his thoughts.

What if those Elves had not been killed?  
What if they had been merely forgotten?  
What if they had lived in these woods through all three ages of the world?

But if that was what had happened, where were they now?  
Why had they left now, after four thousand years?

**oooOooo**

**

* * *

**

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JunoMagic


	16. The Shores of the Eastern Seas

**16. The Shores of the Eastern Seas**

Leaving the meadow and the abandoned city of the mysterious Elves of the East, the path turned into a real road, it was broad and kept clear of hanging branches. We could ride again. Although rain and wind had washed and blown away any traces of the leaving Elves, the trees remembered them, and Elrohir grew more excited with each mile we covered.

I could see that he not only believed we would catch up with these strange Elves, but that they would know about Elladan, that his brother would, perhaps, be with them.  
But we found no clue to explain their departure, and no real tracks of their movements, only whispers among the trees, echoes of their presence fading from earth and plants day by day.

On a cold October morning – the sky was grey and hung with low clouds promising rain later on –, we reached the Eastern end of the Forgotten Forests; without having met anyone at all since we had left the wild tribe of the Eastern plains.  
I halted Cloud and stared at the far Eastern horizon, lost in the dim light of this autumn day.

The country east of the forest seemed to be softly sloping towards the East. It reminded me of the Scottish Highlands, although the hills were much gentler, softly undulating hillocks, which grew more level towards the East. But it was moor land, and the heather was still blooming, its blossoms colouring the hills in a deep violet colour, they glowed almost like amethysts in the sudden sunshine.

The road left the wood and led in a straight line towards the East. The road goes ever on and on, I mused, and if you don't watch your step you end up at the end of the world. It could not be far to the farthest shores now.

"How far is it to the sea, what do you think?" I turned to Elrohir.  
Elrohir narrowed his eyes, looking to the East. "About four hundred miles. Perhaps less."  
Four hundred miles. Ten or elven day's worth of riding.  
"Do you think Elladan was here?" I asked. A stupid question, of course. How should he know? Wind, rain and weather had destroyed the traces of the Eastern Elves travelling this way only twelve weeks before us. How could there be any trace of his brother left – if he had been here at all?  
"This is about as straight a road as you can take to the Eastern shores", Elrohir answered wryly. "He always told me about travelling to the distant shores of the East. If he indeed came as far, he took this road, going straight for his aim, of that there is no doubt in my mind."  
But about whether he ever came here, and why the Eastern Elves left when they did, I thought, there is doubt about all of this. However, as these thoughts were not very constructive, I kept them to myself.

Elrohir urged Lightning forwards. The spirited stallion did not need any urging, but gladly leaped out of the shadows of the trees, galloping off into the East. Cloud only snorted somewhat huffily and followed much more sedately.

But I enjoyed being out in the open again, too. The wildness and depth of these Eastern woods had always made me feel uneasy; to stray but a little from the path had been dangerous in the labyrinthine darkness of trees and underbrush. I preferred the open, with the sky big and wide above me.

That first evening out of the woods of the Orocarni, Elrohir caught a rabbit. Roasting it slowly over the fire, stuffed with herbs, wild carrots and the shoots of wild onions, it was a treat, and I felt almost happy, as if I had left some of my dark thoughts in the twilight of the woods.  
Later, as I lay huddled into my cloak and the sleeping bag, spooned against the exhilarating warmth of Elrohir behind me, I considered beds. I arrived at the conclusion that I had absolutely overestimated the importance of beds.

Although I had lost track of the time I had already spent in Middle-earth (it had surely been two or three months), I did remember the nights I had spent in beds. Two nights at Bree, two nights at Rivendell, three nights at Esgaroth. One week of beds, and many, many more on grass, heather, sandy beaches or the bare earth. And what nights they had been! I could not suppress a smile.  
Against the back of my neck I felt an answering smile on Elrohir's lips.  
"Caught that, did you?"  
As an answer I felt the smile grow even broader, turning into a soft, lingering kiss. "Memorable nights indeed, thurín en-índ nîn, secret of my heart."  
It turned out this night would be one of them.

The road to the East remained easy to travel on, in good condition, leading straight ahead. There were no buildings, no ruins, no signs of anyone ever having lived here whatsoever, only the dusty road taking us even further into the East. Our supplies were dwindling. On the return trip we would have – Elrohir would have – to go by lembas and any rabbits, birds or fish he managed to catch.

My hair had grown almost an inch, tickling my shoulders and delighting the Elf. But more had changed about me than only my hair. I thought that I had changed, too. I felt more at home within myself than I had ever felt before. A part of the change was this strange, intense connection of love – yes, it was, by now I could admit that to myself – between Elrohir and me, but it was even more than that. Somehow this extraordinary journey had brought me closer to who I really was than all my previous years of living, learning, studying and working ever had. Here and back again, to discover who you really are.

Riding along behind Elrohir I wondered if this journey had brought him any closer to discovering who he was going to be, Elf or man.

In a few days we would reach the farthest shores of Middle-earth, and I had a feeling that whatever we would find there, it would decide his future. I could see it in the shadows passing swiftly in his eyes.

The Eastern shores, I mused. As I had never been a real fan girl, I did not own any of those additional gimmicks a LOTR-fan simply had to have – such as an atlas of Middle-earth. I knew there was more than one because I had seen those books in my brother's flat and had even leaved through them. But I remembered only the maps of the paperbacks; and there was nothing on those maps further to the East than Rhûn. I remembered that very clearly, because I had wondered if Tolkien had ever thought about what was beyond the edge of this map. But in the end I had never been curious enough to borrow the books from my brother.

We travelled uncharted lands, and had, for weeks – woods, mountains and plains, which had faded into legends in a legendary realm, a myth within a myth. Who could say what we would find at the end of the road?

**oooOooo**

A few days later I noticed a change in the air. The air was softer, more humid and tasting faintly of salt. We were getting close to the sea now.  
And indeed, in the evening we rode up a hill and I could the Eastern Seas at the horizon.

I turned to Elrohir and smiled. "We are almost there!"  
But he could not smile.

On the morning of the eleventh day after we had left the woods of the Orocarni we reached the shores of the Eastern Ocean. The road turned sharply, and then climbed a steep hill.  
We rode up to the hill's summit side by side and reined in the horses.

My mouth dropped open in wonder and amazement.

We were looking down at white beaches and the silver and blue waves of an endless ocean.  
But just down the hill, on the beach closest to us, there were many colourful tents and people walking about, and on the waves close to the shore were many tall white ships and small rowing boats going back and forth between the ships and the shore.

We had finally caught up with the Elves of the East.

I looked from the busy coming and going on the beach down below to Elrohir. His face was full of amazement to have finally found the elusive Elves of the Orocarni and full of a desperate hope. Would his brother be here?

"Let's go!" I called out to him and nudged Cloud into a trot. We were only a few feet down the path, when Elrohir was at my side. As we rode down the slope of the hill towards the beach, the Elves down there had seen us, too, and a crowd of people had gathered at the end of the trail.

They were Elves. Their hair was dark, tinged in different shades of brown, their eyes green or brown and flecked with gold, like sun shining through the leaves of a forest. Their ears were very pointy, their faces angular and with a feral cast to their looks. They were no quite as tall as Elrohir, but more slender than he was and their movements had the liquid gracefulness of cats.

They were Elves, and without doubt they were silvan Elves, Wood-Elves, and their home were the depths of the forest, the suppleness of their movements' belonged to great trees to climb up on and live in. What had brought them to the sea? To build such tall ships? Were they going to sail for Aman after all?

We slid off our horses and walked up to the Elves.

The tallest and most commanding of the gathered Elves stepped forward and held up his hands in greeting. "Mae govannen, muíndor en-dûn! Welcome, brother from the West! Mae govannen, díneth en-edaín! Welcome, bride of men! My name is Doron. Well met, my friends, only a few days later and we would have been gone."  
Elrohir touched the other Elf's palms with his own. "Mae govannen, Doron. I am Elrohir, son of Elrond-Peredhil. My companion is Jarro, ranger from the North."  
Doron stared at him for a moment with a strange expression in his eyes.

Then Doron turned to me and I repeated the gesture of greeting Elrohir had used.  
"Mae govannen."  
With a fluid movement Dorn turned back to Elrohir a smile at him. I frowned. For a moment I had thought Doron would put his arm around Elrohir's shoulder. His body-language spoke of a familiarity, which was impossible, because I knew they had only just met. Impossible, unless, unless – he did know him, or at least someone who looked exactly like him – fooling his body to react with tiny, instinctive gestures of a familiarity, which were meant for someone else. Or had I only imagined anything stranger than strange about this extraordinary meeting?

I came back out of my thoughts to hear the end of an invitation. "Come to my tent and allow me to offer you some refreshments! You have travelled far, you have to be tired and hungry, and I guess there are many questions you will want to have answered. A long time has passed, since we met any of our Western kin." Again – was that a slight hesitation?  
"Thank you, Doron." Elrohir said, his excitement only ill concealed. "We have travelled many days, and we do have many questions." Had Elrohir noticed anything, or was he too excited to see that something was strange here?

"Thôn, would you take the horses?"  
A young looking Elf with very light hair and almost blue eyes hurried forward and bowed to us. Doron turned to us. "He will take good care of your horses."  
I inclined my head and smiled. "I don't doubt that. But be careful with the stallion, it's an irritable beast even with Elves." I relinquished the reins to Thôn, and Elrohir did the same. Lightning did not like the proceedings and tried to bite Thôn. But the Elf had grabbed the stallion's muzzle before Lightning had time to strike and whispered a few words in an Elvish tongue I did not understand – probably insults or a magic spell. Lightning finally snorted with disgust, but allowed him to be led away.

Doron was grinning broadly, but quickly grew serious again. "Please, follow me."

He led us down to the beach towards the largest tent, which was the size of a small cabin, the cloth died to a deep blue hue. Inside the tent several chairs and couches were arranged around a low table made of dark wood with an exceptionally beautiful grain, which made the surface of the table look almost like a landscape seen from somewhere above.

"Sit down, please. Be comfortable! May I offer you some wine? Wine from Dorwinion, white or red." Doron asked. We sat down on two of the comfortable blue chairs. Soft stuffed cushions, not sitting cross-legged on the ground, what a treat!  
And wine! I nodded to myself. Then those rumours we had followed from Esgaroth really were true, and these mysterious Eastern Elves had now and then done some trading with other peoples of the East.  
"A glass of red wine would be lovely, thank you. Hantale." I said. Doron put two crystal goblets on the table in front of us, carefully pouring ruby red wine from crystal decanter. He was glancing at the Elf out of the corners of his eyes, and was there a hint of a smile around his lips?  
"Hantale." Elrohir said, lifting his glass.

Hadn't he noticed anything odd in the wood-elf's behaviour? There was a certain tension around his eyes. He had noticed something. I looked across the table at Doron, who had been watching Elrohir. When he realized I had been watching him, he raised one of his thin, slanted eyebrows and nodded at me. I raised my eyebrows right back at him. Only because I was human I did not necessarily have to be unobservant of my surroundings and people's behaviour, didn't I?

"Just a moment", Doron rose in a graceful movement from his chair. "There is something I have to see to." Something or someone? I rather hoped for the latter.  
When he had left, I turned to Elrohir, to ask if he had noticed the same thing I had, but when I saw the desperate gleam of hope in his eyes, I bit my lip and remained silent.

Moments later the cloth of the tent's opening was tossed aside and a tall figure strode into the tent. It was a tall Elf with dark hair and grey eyes, and he stopped dead in his tracks just in front of Elrohir, who had risen from his seat, a tall Elf with dark hair and grey eyes, proud and noble features, the exact image of the newcomer. Without a word they fell into each other's arms, a tight embrace, clutching at each other as if they were drowning.

Tearing my eyes from the meeting of the brothers I noticed a second someone, who had inched her way into the tent.

An Elvish woman was standing close to the opening of the tent. Her face reminded me of Doron, but her hair was black as a raven's wing and her eyes blue as the summer's sky. She was very petite for an Elf, even for a silvan Elf, who apparently tended to be smaller than the Noldor as a rule. This woman was positively small, and so delicately boned to look fragile. But one look at the steel in her eyes told me she was anything but that. Here was strength, and an iron power of will. Love, too, to last beyond the end of the world, if I was not very much mistaken.

I don't know how I realized all this in just one glance; in the real world I was never the most perceptive person, always the last to realize that someone was gay or in love, sort of clumsy, really. But when I looked at her, I knew. I can't explain how I knew, I just did.

At last Elrohir and Elladan broke apart. Elladan turned to the small Elvish woman waiting in the corner, and Elrohir – at the same time and with exactly the same kind of momentum – turned towards me. "May I introduce –"

Both spoke as one, their voices carrying the same kind of inflection, although Elrohir's was slightly darker. They broke off, looked at each other and started laughing like loons. Elrohir's eyes shone like silver. Apart from when we made love I had never seen them so bright. A weight lifted from my heart I had not even realized to be there. For the first time in weeks I breathed easily. He had found his brother. And there was enough time to get to Dol Amroth yet; the brothers could choose together and remain together for all eternity.

I walked over to the black haired Elvish lady. I bowed to her and smiled. "My name is Jarro. I am a ranger from the North. I accompanied Elrohir on this journey." The Elf-lady smiled and inclined her head in turn, her right hand resting on her stomach. "My name is Mínuíal. I am betrothed to Elladan."  
"Nice to meet you." I said.

**oooOooo**

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**Please feel free to leave a comment!**

_Anything at all: _if you noticed a typo, if you did not like a characterization or a description, if you thought a line especially funny, if there was something you particularly enjoyed or if you have a question...

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You can find my replies to the comments in my fan fiction LiveJournal, user name: juno_(underscore)_fanfic, tagged as "Game – comments". Simply look for the chapter you commented on and you should be able to find my reply!

Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed this chapter.

Yours   
JunoMagic


	17. Dr Jim Watkins 3

**17. Dr. Jim Watkins (3)**

He was back in the room of Ms McCourt. The three test persons he had to watch seemed to be happy with their game, so he had returned to his seat in Jarro's room.

He contemplated her pretty, smiling face and her tousled brown, wavy hair and became increasingly curious about what her eyes would look like when she would smile at him later, when the game was over and he got up his nerve to ask her out.

After a time of watching her, he rose and went to get himself a cup of coffee. The coffee was good and strong, not at all like the inky brew they served at the hospital. Perhaps he should try to get into private practice after all…

He cast a look at Ms McCourt's monitors and frowned.

Something was strange there.

He looked at the lines, which represented the activities of her brain and her heart rate.

No, there was nothing wrong. She was healthy, there was no undue excitement displayed here, nothing to indicate any symptoms of anything untoward happening to either her brain or her heart.  
He blinked and rubbed his eyes, watching the monitors closely.

Everything was alright.

And yet…

There was something strange here. He could not quite grasp it, but something was strange.

He thought about going to the second physician on watch for these test runs today, but in the end decided against it. Everything he knew and all the clever programmes of the monitors set to alert him at any dangerous development in the test person's health, all this told him that everything was alright.

He could not simply break off an expensive test run because he had a feeling that something was strange. He could not do that, when his experience, his knowledge and those damn monitors told him that everything was perfectly alright.

He sat back down to watch Jarro McCourt's vital signs, the waves delineating her neural activities.

He could not say what it was.

But something was strange.

He waited.

Soon the game would be over. 

**oooOooo**

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**

**Please feel free to leave a comment!**

_Anything at all: _if you noticed a typo, if you did not like a characterization or a description, if you thought a line especially funny, if there was something you particularly enjoyed or if you have a question...

I am _really_ interested in knowing what my readers think about what I write.

You can find my replies to the comments in my fan fiction LiveJournal, user name: juno_(underscore)_fanfic, tagged as "Game – comments". Simply look for the chapter you commented on and you should be able to find my reply!

Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed this chapter.

Yours   
JunoMagic


	18. Elladan's Story

**18. Elladan's Story**

Finally the brothers' laughter subsided, and they turned towards the delicate Elvish lady and me, not very delicate in any way, not Elvish. Elladan stared at me with raised eyebrows. Elrohir stared at Mínuíal with raised eyebrows. I stared at both of them, no eyebrows raised, but utterly fascinated at the double vision of male Elvish beauty before me. 

Elladan and Elrohir were identical twins without the benefit of a strategically placed mole or scar, to make it easier to tell them apart. I narrowed my eyes, trying to discern any difference between them apart from the fact that they wore different clothes and Elrohir had his hair open today, whereas Elladan had his braided down his back.   
Perhaps Elrohir was a bit thinner. And Elladan was glowing with happiness, when he looked at Mínuíal. Would I be able to tell them apart?

Now I raised my eyebrows, too.

"Introductions, remember?" I said, at my driest. As the beauty contest was already decided with me the loser, I could at least try for witty repartee.

Elrohir flashed me silvery look, which felt like a caress drifting down between my breasts. I swallowed hard. An interesting way to tell them apart.

But then Elrohir smiled and turned to his brother. "May I introduce Jarro, a ranger from the North and companion on my search for you." The last part he hissed slightly.

No fighting, boys! Elladan, who had stared at me with a bewildered expression on his face, turned towards Elrohir. "But there are no more rangers in the North."

I groaned. I had been so much looking forward to finally, finally finding Elladan! I smiled sweetly at Elladan and said, "Well, I am from the North and I have ranged far and wide; and many miles of this far and wide were spent looking for you, my Lord." I held my palms up in the traditional Elvish greeting. "Mae govannen, at long last, my lord Elladan."

And up the eyebrows went again, but there was a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. He placed his palms against mine and I was surprised to feel nothing. Only a slight touch of skin. There was nothing like this overwhelming, tingling sensation I had felt from Elrohir since the first time we met. Was that strange?

I stepped back, smiling politely at no one and every one. When in doubt, smile. Animals bare their teeth as a threat against intimidating situations, and sometimes growl. We smile.  
I was feeling strange and unsure of myself being included in this reunion of the brothers.

Now Elladan walked over to Mínuíal and drew her close against his body. They did not really touch, just stood really close to each other. I blinked at the scene, wondering how it was possible for two people to… fit together like that. I had the strange impression that they belonged to each other in a way that they were two parts of a whole; not figuratively, but in a real, tangible sense of the meaning.

Elladan now turned to his brother. "Elrohir, this is Laerte, called also Mínuíal. She is the daughter of Doron, the leader of the Avari, and we are betrothed to marry."

They were both positively glowing with happiness at giving this news. At least in that way they were exactly the same as all the newly engaged couples I had ever met.

"Mae govannen, Mínuíal. A star shines above the hour of our meeting." Elrohir said embracing his brother and his brother's betrothed. I looked at Elrohir and felt the strangest mixture of happiness, relief and sadness. Sadness?

When I looked back at the scene I felt as if I was looking at a picture or from somewhere far above. Suddenly I understood the feeling of sadness I had touched in Elrohir's thoughts.

The saying of the wild tribes that you can never meet again, because you will always change and be different when you return, it was proven true with this reunion. Even if the brothers chose the same path for the rest of their lives, claiming their Eldarin ancestry, they would never be together again as they had been throughout the third age of the world.

First and foremost Elladan would be Mínuíal's husband from now on, and if I was not very much mistaken, father of their children, and no longer twin brother, accounting for one half of the songs and legends telling of the deeds of Elrond's sons.

Elrohir smiled at his brother, a smile full of love and relief and regret. "Tell me, brother, how did you meet this beautiful dawn of her people, for now I understand better, why you did not return or send word, while I was waiting for you in Rivendell."  
Elladan grinned unrepentantly, but I think I caught a glimmer of relief in his eyes. "Do you, then? But I suggest we sit down and have a drink and something to eat to go with the story. It is a rather long story and I enjoy telling it."

We sat back down, Elladan pouring wine for Mínuíal and himself, adding water to Mínuíal's wine. Then Doron returned, and everyone was up on their feet again, talking at the same time, this and that and oh and ah. Then Thôn appeared, carrying trays with food and assuring us that the horses were fine. Finally everyone was seated and provided with food and drink. Yes, I admit, I was impatient to hear Elladan's story and I was not inclined to be as forgiving as Elrohir. If my brother left me waiting without calling or sending a SMS for an hour or two, he was sure to catch hell next time I saw him, no matter what, or who, had kept him. And Elrohir had waited for months! And the choice of the Half-Elven wasn't exactly a date for dinner and a movie!

I took a sip of the red wine. It was delicious and soothed my agitation.  
It's none of your business, after all, Jarro. I reminded myself. It's only a game.

They are back together and can decide together what they will do. You listen, keep your mouth shut and then return to London. And why the bloody hell did even the thought of London bring tears to my eyes?  
I took another swallow of the red wine and resolutely turned my attention back to Elladan, who had been fussing with Mínuíal to put her feet up. No, I did not raise my eyebrows.

With his arm around Mínuíal, Elladan beamed at his brother. "Well, brother. Where shall I start? The evening perhaps, when we first perceived that the choice was upon us. It was not really a surprise, wasn't it? We were the only ones left of our people in all of Middle-earth – or so we thought. Indeed, looking back, I can see how strange it must have been for our kin and the Valar Themselves, how long we lingered in Arda, putting off the choice. We had talked about it, you and me, more than once. We talked about it, when Arwen chose her destiny, we talked about it when mother left, and we talked about it, when father left. But somehow, we could never decide. Arda, Middle-earth, was our home, not Aman. And there were so many paths to discover yet in Middle-earth, and the line of Aragorn and Arwen to look out for.  
That was what I felt, at least. But when the choice was set for mid-winter this year, I perceived that you were willing to obey the call of kin and duty."

He sighed, and the same shadows I knew from Elrohir's eyes turned his silver gaze to a darker grey. "For the first time I was loath to be with you, brother. Indeed, for the first time in my life I realized that this decision had to be my very own. And this disturbed me greatly. In all those 3,181 years of our lives, we have almost never been parted, and always have known each other's soul and thoughts. But with this decision, I was barred from your thoughts. I have never felt more lonely and frightened than in those last days at Rivendell. Finally I could not stand it anymore. I had to leave." Elladan's voice was almost pleading. Elrohir's eyes were a mirror of the darkness I had seen in his twin's gaze.

"I had told you I wanted to see the Eastern Seas. That was true, but more than anything else, I wanted to be alone, a new and strange desire… But I felt better as soon as I had left Imladris. I hiked on dangerous trails through the Misty Mountains, following them to the North until I reached their end. At mount Gundabad I turned east, climbing the lesser heights of the Ered Mithrin. I crossed the Withered Heath, and only barely escaped the evil ghosts dwelling there." Elladan shuddered, closing his eyes at some terrible memory.  
"Then I crossed the plains of the Erebor to the Iron Hills. I stayed with the dwarves for a bit. They were very polite, not at all what you would expect. But their numbers are dwindling. There have been born no more girl-children among them for a long time now."

Elladan trailed off, his gaze unfocused, a melancholy expression on his clear features. "The world is changing, brother. Our time here is really over, and even the other older children of Eru are fading."  
Mínuíal's hand closed over Elladan's and a smile lit up his face, chasing away his sadness.

"I travelled to the East some three hundred miles north of the Sea of Rhûn, making a straight line for the Orocarni. Those mountains are so old; they made me feel like an Elfling again. And their rugged beauty! I delighted in Middle-earth once more, and was almost ready to claim a human life, forever roaming strange paths of stranger countries. But then the most extraordinary thing happened."

He beamed at Mínuíal and at Doron. "I arrived at the vast forests at the feet of the Orocarni. And the trees recognized me as an Elf! I have never been more astonished in my entire life. The whispering leaves, the dewy grass, the very air held the presence of Elves. But I had thought there were no more of our kindred left in Arda. I could not contain my curiosity and followed a path deep into the forest. And one bright summer morning I ran right into the arms of Elvish guards. Fortunately Doron's people are more forgiving to trespassers than the galadhrim used to be." He grinned at Doron. "I was allowed to try and explain myself, and not simply thrown into some dungeon as Thranduil of Eryn Lasgalen was wont to do with strangers."  
Doron smiled and inclines his head. "I guess our remoteness has made us go soft."

Somehow I doubted that. Doron did not look soft at all, more like and exceptionally shrewd politician. And I would not want to try and go against him in a match of swords.

Elladan grinned at the comment, too. Soft, eh?

"Anyway, I was allowed to stay, and as an honoured guest, too. Oh, brother, it was so good to be with our people once more! And no shadow has ever touched their homes. In these forgotten Eastern lands Arda is as she was intended to be. I felt happy in the forests of the Orocarni; the weight of choice was lifted from my heart."

His silver gaze locked with Mínuíal's blue one. The intensity between them was almost touchable. "And then I met Mínuíal, who had been away scouting the beaches of the Eastern Seas. I looked at her, she looked at me, and the world was changed forever. We were betrothed at Loëndë. I have never been happier in all my life. Now you are here, brother! The Valar's blessing is with us!"  
He beamed at his brother.

True love at first sight, I thought wistfully and wished I could huddle up against Elrohir, hiding my face against his chest and forgetting about love and choices and games and ends.

"But now you have to tell how you come to be here, my brother! I did not think I would ever see you again, until this world will be remade. I cannot tell you how this pained me, or how joyful I am that you have met us just in time!"  
Elrohir narrowed his eyes. "Just in time for what?"  
But Elladan held up his hand. "Fair's fair! A story for a story, little brother. Now it's your turn!"

Elrohir raised a slanted eyebrow, and then shrugged. Travelling with Elrohir I had had the impression that he would be the more forceful of the brothers. Evidently I had been mistaken.

Obediently Elrohir told our story, to my absolute relief leaving out any personal details about our – er – relationship. I was gratified at the terrified gasp from Mínuíal at the telling of our little skirmish with the orcs, and how her eyes grew very round with curiosity at our encounter with the Eastern tribe.  
"And now we are here", Elrohir concluded.

And where will we go from here? I asked myself. I could see the same question in Elrohir's eyes, and the tightness around his lips.

But before either of us could ask the question, Doron had risen from his seat. "And we are really glad that you are!" The Elf told us. "I can see many more questions in your eyes, and there will be decisions to be made and plans to be laid – but I ask you, not just now and at once. Even though we are not in our beautiful city of trees, we will not let ourselves be diminished as hosts. A feast will be held in your honour, dinner and dancing and singing! A bonfire shall be lit! Let any other tales and questions wait for yet another few hours. – I have ordered a tent to be readied for your use; it should be waiting for you now. You can bathe away your weariness and rest until sunset."  
Elladan nodded his agreement at his future father-in-laws suggestion. "Doron's right. I can see that you are tired. I will come and get you when the dinner's ready."

The Elves were both right, of course. I was tired and Elrohir was, too. And the emotional upheaval of meeting his brother again had to add to the weariness from travelling, even for an Elf. But I did not like being cut off from my questions like that.  
"Very well", Elrohir said, rising to his feet. "If you show us to the tent, big brother?"  
He did not raise an eyebrow.  
Elladan grinned unrepentantly at his brother. Thôn showed Elladan the way to the tent, Elrohir followed his brother, and I tugged along.

A welcome dinner and party. And then I should be gone. I really should.

**oooOooo**

It was a nice tent. The colour was a dark turquoise green. It reminded me a bit of the Sea of Rhûn. Why did that make me feel like crying?

There was only one bed, that is to say, one large mattress lying on the floor of the tent. Although I had the distinct feeling that Elladan and Doron had not approved of me, they had apparently decided to accept Elrohir's "companionship" with this "ranger" from the North. I did not know whether to be glad or feel awkward. On the one hand, I had not thought that anyone could look at me and see with one glance I had been sharing sleeping bags with Elrohir; those damn keen eyes of the Elves, I thought, blushing hotly.

On the other hand, I had to admit that I did not want to sleep alone.

We got out of our dusty clothes and washed the sweat and dirt off our bodies. But we did not sleep. We lay on the mattress clinging to each other, acutely aware of questions not yet answered and choices to be made.

**oooOooo**

We were lucky with the weather for the welcome party. For an evening in October, it was balmy. There was almost no wind, and the sun was as warm as possible for autumn at the sea.

When Elladan finally came to escort us to the central square between the tents of the Elves, the square was gone. Another huge tent had been put up there, with large fires lit on each of its sides. Thus the interior of the huge party tent was bright and warm and inviting. Long tables had been set up inside of the tent, to form the letter "U", leaving an aisle for musicians and artists, and indeed, there were already three musicians standing there, playing on silver flutes. We were shown to the foremost table, and, as guests of honour placed on the right side of Doron. On his left Mínuíal was seated and next to her Elladan.

A first glass of sparkling white wine was offered and many Elves were introduced to us, I did not attempt curtsying, but bowing so often I felt my cheeks flush in a very un-Elvish manner. They did not stare at me. With eyes as sharp as an Elf's you probably did not need to stare. But I did feel… scrutinized… watched… wondered at. They were naturally curious about me, I thought. I was curious about them, too.

Why shouldn't they feel the same?  
If I was not very much mistaken, most of them had never seen a human being, a mortal, before.

The evening flew by in a flurry of delicacies and extraordinary wines, accompanied by music more beautiful than anything I had ever heard before. There was dancing, too, and the gracefulness of the Elves was not of this world.

I did not eat much and drank even less, but watched the Elves around me; most of the time remembered not let my mouth hang open in wonder. Even though I felt out of place and an awkward onlooker on a people much closer to divine grace than humans can ever be, I was happy and grateful. Yes, grateful. Somewhere deep inside of me I kept saying a prayer of humble gratefulness for being allowed to be a part of this evening.

Although I had travelled with Elrohir so far, and we had been as close as two beings can possibly be, only today I had a glimpse of understanding of Elvish culture, of living, breathing Elvendom. Watching their dancing, listening to their music, hearing their golden laughter, seeing the light of the stars caught in their eyes – all of these tiny details and more, which I cannot begin to describe, showed me that they were indeed an alien race, the Firstborn of Ilúvatar, the quendi, the fair folk; and all those designations fall far short of how Elves truly are. How poor is the earth, which does not know them but in legends and myths!

Suddenly I came out of my reference to hear the beginning of a tale. A tall, fair haired Elf was standing in the aisle, a dark haired girl plucking at a harp sitting a few feet behind him. I cannot recall the rhymes of the ballad the Elf told us in his dark singing voice, but this was the story I heard, caught up in elegant rhymes and flowing melody.

"…and when the light of the stars hit the waters of the lake Cuiviénen the first time, and their reflections kindled bright lights in the dark waves of the lake, it was that the Elves were woken by the song of Eru Ilúvatar, the Ainlulindalë.

They opened their eyes from the Sleep of Yavanna and beheld Arda in all her unspoilt beauty. One hundred forty four they were, the quendi, the speakers, and they walked the first wood and swam in the first river, and when they spoke to the animals in the wild and the trees in the forests, they were answered in kind.

When darkness woke, the spirits of the stars, the Valar, summoned all Elves to leave their home and go to the West. Many were afraid and followed the summons. Others had already left the shores of the Cuiviénen, to discover all the lands and all the seas of Eä. But twenty-one remained behind. And the Valar called them Avari, the unwilling.  
The Valar and the Elves, and later dwarves and men and many others fought in many wars against the darkness. The balance between good and evil, dark and light, matter and void, swayed with the passage of time. Enemies were vanquished and new evil was born.

The face of Arda was changed, and the Lake of Cuiviénen was destroyed.

But the Orocarni remained, and the Wild Woods of the East remained, too. However, the Eastern Lands were forgotten, the mountains of the East were forgotten, and the woods at their feet were forgotten, too.  
The Avari were forgotten.

We became the delíël, the hidden ones, the forgotten ones, because the Valar do not remember us and our brethren do not know us.  
And hidden we shall remain until Ilúvatar calls us forth."

When the singer ended, I only slowly returned into the present. As it should be with a myth of origin, the verses had been very powerful, and had touched me deeply. Elves forgotten by the Valar and their own kindred… what a sad story.

My thoughts went back to the last line, which had been approximately "And hidden we shall remain until Ilúvatar calls us forth".

There was a strange quality to this as a last line, as if there was a purpose to their remaining behind and being forgotten, almost as if there was a reason for them becoming the delíël, a reason known only to Ilúvatar.

A cold shiver ran down my spine, as if my thoughts had touched upon a premonition, a foreboding of shadows in a far away future.  
I shuddered violently. Elrohir touched my elbow lightly. "Are you cold?"  
"No", forcing my thoughts back to the party. "Just a goose walking on my grave, I suppose."  
"A goose?" Elrohir raised an unbelieving eyebrow. I grinned at him.  
"That's just a saying. Do you think I might have another glass of this wonderful red wine?"

**oooOooo**

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**A/N: **I hope you don't mind that I did not try to put the legend of the Avari into verses. Trust me, it's better that way.

**oooOooo**

**Please feel free to leave a comment!**

_Anything at all: _if you noticed a typo, if you did not like a characterization or a description, if you thought a line especially funny, if there was something you particularly enjoyed or if you have a question...

I am _really_ interested in knowing what my readers think about what I write.

You can find my replies to the comments in my fan fiction LiveJournal, user name: juno_(underscore)_fanfic, tagged as "Game – comments". Simply look for the chapter you commented on and you should be able to find my reply!

Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed this chapter.

Yours   
JunoMagic


	19. To Aman?

**19. To Aman?**

I was alone in the tent when I woke. I did not mind. There was too much on my mind to feel comfortable with others around me at the moment, especially keen-eyed, supernaturally perceptive Elves.  
On a low table was a plate with some fruit and white bread, and a jug of water with two beakers. I ate some breakfast, and then ventured out off the tent to have a look around.

The large structure of the party tent of the previous night had already been pulled down again. Indeed, I thought that there were fewer tents around than when we had arrived yesterday. Every Elf in sight was busily running here and there, carrying large bundles or wooden planks or ushering animals along towards the beach. The small rowing boats, which I had already observed the day before, were again going back and forth between the tall ships and the beach.

They were getting ready to leave. I frowned. I remembered the song about the Avari's origins from the party. But they had not told us anything about their destination.

Yet another mystery of these mysterious Elves of the East.  
A riddle I probably would not be here to solve.

I wandered off towards the North, away from the coming and going between the ships and the shore. I needed time to be alone. Time to think. Time to remember who I was and where I came from, where I belonged.

After walking for about ten minutes away from the general mêlée at the beach, the noise of the goings-on at the tents subsided slowly and the sound of waves and wind became predominant. The beaches of the Eastern Seas were white here and soft with finely grained sands. There were lovely dunes, too, grown with long grasses. The day was tinged in grey, and the wind chilly.

I found a hollow between two dunes, which reminded me of another set of dunes, many miles away from here. I smiled to myself and sat down in the hollow. It was fairly deep and hidden from view by some gorse bushes and a sheaf of marram grass, but the sand was soft and dry, and I could see the waves rushing to the shore at the right hand edge of the hollow.

I don't know how long I sat there, breathing and looking, thinking about nothing but the salty taste of the wind and the softness of the sand under my fingers.

I had, of course, not been able to hear the Elves approaching my hiding place, and the plants which hid me from view, had also obscured them. I only realized that I was not alone anymore, when I heard a familiar voice speak in the beautiful Elvish tongue, Sindarin, which I understood fairly well by now.

"And yet, brother, there are many things you have not told me." Elrohir said.  
"Well, you have not told me everything, either", Elladan answered.  
Silence fell between them.

Should I draw their attention to me? Just step out and say, hi, where did you turn up from?  
For a moment I considered trying to simply get away unnoticed. I bit my lower lip.  
With their ears no less keen than their eyes, there was no way to just slip away and leave them to their talk.

"Much has changed during the last months, muíndor-nîn." Elrohir said slowly.  
"That is true", Elladan sighed.  
"Where do the Avari sail from here? Why do they leave Arda now, when there is peace? If they love their home so much that they could not consider following the summons of the Valar, why leave now?"  
I raised my eyebrows. That was a hell of a straight question for an Elf. In my limited experience with Elves, there were a lot of things left unsaid in any conversation, a lot of polite waiting for the other person to take the next step.  
"You cut right to the point, brother… but I am not sure if it is my place to tell you this."  
I could hear that Elladan dreaded something about what he would have to say. His voice sounded haunted.  
"If you go with them, I think it better be you to tell me about it."

I swallowed dryly. Somehow I had a bad feeling about where this conversation would lead. I knew I ought to get up and walk down to them, acting as if I had not understood anything they had said up until now and get the hell away from them, but I could not bring myself to it. I remained where I was, hunched into my sandy hollow, hardly daring to breathe.

"Oh, Elrohir! I cannot even say that I am sorry, although my heart aches for you. I never expected to find love, to find a true bond! When I left you, I was torn up inside with this evil curse they call the Half-Elven's choice. Now I am whole and love has found me, but pain flies in its wake. You are right; they will not go to Aman. They will sail across the Eastern Seas to reach the lands of the sun, the plains behind Kalórmë, the Sun-rising Hill, where no child of Ilúvatar has walked before, a land, which was never touched by darkness. And I will go with them, even if I do not know how this will affect my choice."

I gritted my teeth just in time to suppress a gasp. They were not going to Aman? Whatever was this Kalórmë? Where ever were those sun-lands? And what did he mean, when he said he did not know how this would affect his choice?

"Father was right" Elrohir sighed. "You are very much like our grandfather; this world was too small for you from the beginning… I will never understand how you manage to always discover even stranger paths, leading even farther away.  
But as to the choice – I think the choice is bound to us remaining in Arda or travelling on. If we remain, we have to choose a mortal life. If we go on – and I don't think they literally said, go on to Aman – we remain Elvish, immortal."  
Elladan laughed softly. "You always were the philosopher, Elrohir. If I am the image of grandfather, you are like father, more the thinker than the fighter."  
"I have seen enough fighting in my days."  
"As have I, brother, and most of them at your side."  
"Indeed. But you have not told me why they leave. Don't you know it, or don't you want to tell me?" Elrohir returned to his original question.  
This time it was Elladan, who sighed. The silence stretched. The Elf was either staring out to see, trying to gather his thoughts, or rubbing at his temples, not knowing how to explain…

By now any thought of drawing attention to my presence had vanished from my mind. I just wanted to know the answer to Elrohir's question.

"The world is changing." Elladan finally said, and then fell silent again. Yeeesss… and…?

What the hell did that mean? "The world is changing"! The sense of foreboding I had experienced yesterday evening returned, sending an icy shiver down my back.

"The world is changing." Elladan repeated. "The Avari feel it. Something in the structure of Arda is changing; the very bones of the earth are changing. Our time here is over. The fourth age belongs to the children of men and not to us. The Avari agree with the Valar on that account. But the West is not for them. Their songs belong to the East, where the sun rises."

I felt tears in my eyes. I hated the way Tolkien had ended the story of "The Lord of the Rings", making the Elves, beauty and magic leave Middle-earth, taking away everything, which was special and wonderful… it had always made me cry, and hearing those words spoken by a beautiful Elvish voice and referring to another direction did not improve them.

"You are right." Elrohir agreed. "I feel it, too. The world is changing. But I am not sure if you draw the right conclusions, if even the Valar draw the right conclusions. I keep thinking we are missing an essential detail… But that is neither here nor there; the ships are almost ready to leave. When do you plan to set sail?"  
"In three days." Elladan said. Then he uttered a sound somewhere between a moan and a sob.  
"Brother! Come with me! Please! Let's sail together and discover these new lands to the East! It would be just like the old days!"

I felt choked, and hot tears were running down my cheeks. I hoped Elrohir would say yes, because I knew just how much he loved his brother.

I heard the soft rustling sound of silken robes on the sand, two bodies meeting in a tight embrace. Elrohir's voice was muffled against his brother's shoulder, when he spoke next.  
"The old days were over, brother, when you left Imladris months ago. The time has come for us to choose our own paths beyond the circles of this world."  
"Is it because of this mortal?" Elladan asked, painful denial in his voice. "Take her with you! I am sure Doron would not mind! And Mínuíal finds her fascinating!"

Me? Fascinating?

I heard Elrohir sigh, and thought he would probably be holding his brother at his shoulders now, looking him straight in the eyes, forcing Elladan to see and accept what he wanted to ignore.

"That is not possible, brother, and you know that well. She does not belong with the Avari. I may not know much about her, but that much I can see."  
"Do you love her?"  
"Do you love Mínuíal? – Then do not ask me such a question!"

Did he mean to say? Did he – had he just said – fuck, fuck, fuck, I should have run away when I had first noticed them!

"But what will you do, Elrohir? Will I ever see you again?" I could hear tears in Elladan's voice, and my own tears kept running down my cheeks as well.

"I don't know yet what I will do." Elrohir's voice was husky with emotion, too. When he continued, his voice was rough, as if it was difficult for him to speak.  
"And I don't know whether we will see each other again. But you know, Elladan, that it matters not. Our love will last forever, brothers we will remain, beyond time and space. Life and death, Arda, Aman or Kalórmë, they have little meaning when it comes down to love such as ours.  
Lift your heart, Elladan, and dry your tears; you have found love and a family, and a future, which holds everything you ever dreamed of – a whole new continent to discover."  
After a moment's silence Elrohir chuckled softly. "Do you know, big brother, in olden days it was always you, cheering me up! The world must be really changing."  
Elladan responded with a shaky laugh.  
"Ai! Indeed. You must have grown up when I wasn't looking."  
They joined in soft laughter, but quickly fell silent again.  
After a long moment of silence, it was Elladan, who spoke again.  
"I promised to be back at the ships at noon. There is still much to do. Will you come with me?"  
"No, if you don't need me, I think I will remain here for a while… I need time to think."  
"Don't let the time grow too long." Elladan cautioned his brother, and I thought that he referred to mid-winter and an Elvish ship waiting at Dol Amroth and not today.  
"Should I say, don't worry, brother, I won't, to soothe your mind?"  
"I would not believe you, if you did."  
"Then I won't say it."  
I heard a rustling sound of Elvish gowns, and then the sound of one or two light steps on the sand; Elladan had walked off, back to the ships.

As I tried to determine if Elrohir had gone away, too, the shrubbery in front of my hollow parted and I was looking up at Elrohir's tear-stained face. He did not look at all astonished to find me there.  
"You knew I was here?" I asked, feeling ashamed.  
He nodded, and sank to the ground next to me.  
"Why didn't you say anything?"  
He sighed, locking his arms around his knees. "I needed you courage."  
I stared at him. My courage?

His eyes were black with sorrow and grief.  
Gingerly I reached out to touch his hands, gripping at his wrists so hard that the blue veins stood out in sharp relief. His fingers were icy.  
"How do you feel?" I whispered, not really wanting to know.  
"What is it you call it in your mind? Bloody-fucking-goddamned-awful." He said, laid his head against his knees and cried. 

**oooOooo**

**

* * *

**

**Please feel free to leave a comment!**

_Anything at all: _if you noticed a typo, if you did not like a characterization or a description, if you thought a line especially funny, if there was something you particularly enjoyed or if you have a question...

I am _really_ interested in knowing what my readers think about what I write.

You can find my replies to the comments in my fan fiction LiveJournal, user name: juno_(underscore)_fanfic, tagged as "Game – comments". Simply look for the chapter you commented on and you should be able to find my reply!

Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed this chapter.

Yours   
JunoMagic


	20. Beyond the Circles of this World

**20. Beyond the Circles of this World**

We remained sitting in the hollow between the dunes until sunset.

The sky was grey, hung with low clouds; the wind was cold and strong. Gulls were wheeling above the sea, dropping down into the dark waters, bobbing spots of silver between green waves and white crests of foam. Their piercing, disharmonic cries echoed across the beach, a melancholy soundtrack to the fading year.

I tilted my head back and watched the circling of the gulls in the sky. Legolas had heard the gulls at Pelargir, when the grey company had ridden to fight against the Corsairs of Umbar, I recalled. Their wailing voices had woken the longing for the sea in his soul, the desire for Eldamar and the Blessed Realm. Had there been truly no joy and peace left for him in Middle-earth after hearing their cries?

I looked at Elrohir's pale face, his dark eyes, so full of shadow they seemed almost black. Had he heard their cries then, too? What did their cry mean to him?

"_Gwael_, we call them," Elrohir said in a husky voice. "But they have other names, too. _Maew_, or _myl_. In Quenya they are _maíwi_. There are many sad songs and poems about the call of the _gwael_, how they call our souls home to Aman."  
"And… do they call your soul, too?" I asked and for some reason my voice trembled at the question.  
He sighed and lifted his eyes to the sky, following the flight of the gulls as I had done.  
"No," he said. "No, they don't. It would be easier, if they did."

**oooOooo**

Later we walked back to the tents of the Avari. The Elves had been busy, the great loads of supplies and tools, which had been made ready in the morning to be transported on board of the tall ships, had dwindled to relatively small heaps. If the weather did not turn, the Avari would easily be able to sail within three days, leaving Middle-earth to its autumn and winter.

That night we had dinner "en famille", Doron, Mínuíal, Elladan, Elrohir and me; I felt uncomfortable to be included in the invitation, but when I saw the darkness in Elrohir's eyes I could not object. We sat next to each other at dinner, Elladan across from his brother and Mínuíal across from me, Doron at the head of the table.

The brothers were telling tales of their adventures as rangers, but their gaze was focused on each other to the exclusion of everyone else. It seemed to me that the brothers were trying to fix every detail of their twin in their mind and soul. They tried to relive and to share again the most exciting and precious moments of their lives together. They wanted to bring back those shared moments, before they were lost in time forever.

I sat and listened. I forced myself to eat at least a little bit of the excellent mushroom soufflé I had been served and fought valiantly to blink away my tears now and then. And now and then I felt a fleeting touch of Elrohir's cool fingers against my thigh, as if he needed to reassure himself that I was still there.

When the dessert – dark and white mousse au chocolat or something very similar – was sitting untouched on a white plate in front of me, I found myself staring into Mínuíal's dark blue eyes. We had been unknowingly staring into each other's eyes for quite some time, I think, both of us caught up in the pain of the brothers' parting. When I tried to avert my gaze, blushing at my inappropriate behaviour, the Elven woman shook her head imperceptibly and gave a slight jerk to the left, her eyebrows raised questioningly. Girl talk outside the tent?

I felt a frown creep up on my face and hastily nodded. As a make-believe-ranger from the North I was not quite in the position to decline any girl talk an Elvish princess wanted to have. And I was curious about Mínuíal.

She made our excuses in such a fast hiss of Sindarin that I did only get the gist of what she was saying; but it seemed to be not much different from what any London girl would say at such a moment, so I followed her as she swept out of the tent, feeling like an elephant trudging behind a fluttering fairy.

**oooOooo**

She led me into a tent just to the right of Doron's and offered me a glass of something sparkly. "This is my place until we leave. A good place to talk without disturbing their farewell." I must have appeared somewhat dubious.  
"It's only water, don't worry," she said, as she handed me a glass, and then flopped down on an easy chair in a corner. I sat down on straight-backed wooden chair with comfortable, intricately carved arm-rests, sipped at the water and waited for what she wanted to say.  
The silence lengthened, but I did not mind. The undercurrents of emotion accompanying dinner tonight had left me too frazzled to care.

"What does it mean to be mortal?" Mínuíal asked abruptly.  
I put the glass down and stared at her. What did she want to know?  
"It means that I will die." I said.  
"I know that," the Elf replied. "But what does it MEAN?"  
Mean? Did she want to talk about religion? I knew almost nothing about religion in Middle-earth. What did it mean to me, to be mortal? I blinked. After thinking about her question, I finally answered, and my explanation sounded clumsy to my own ears, not really an explanation at all.  
"I will grow old and then I will die. Or I will fall sick and die, when I am still young. My life will end. This…" I gestured at her and the room. "This world will continue to exist without me. I will be gone. Some believe we go on after death, to God, or to another life. I don't know about that. No one has come back yet, to tell about it." Well, Jesus perhaps, back home, but there were quite enough dissenting opinions on His account.  
"But what does it MEAN, for you, for your life?" Mínuíal repeated, still not satisfied with my answer.

What does it mean…

"That I should keep in mind how precious the time is that I have been given," I said slowly. "But I don't think we do that. I guess it's not really possible. How can you live, if you keep thinking about death? Most of the time, we just live our lives… acting as if we had forever." I fell silent. Eventually I continued. "There is a saying, where I come from, a reminder; 'carpe diem', it means 'seize the day'. We have to use the little time we have wisely, intensively."

I looked across the room at the ethereal figure of this princess of the Avari. She looked so very fragile, and yet I knew that she would still be alive and looking exactly the same, when no one would even remember my name anymore. "Many wise human men and women have thought about the meaning of life and death, many poets have written beautiful and important verses about this." I added. "But I don't really remember them. In the end, I guess, everyone has to find his own verse to add. Perhaps that's what it's all about…"

"You know the Ainulindalë?" She asked, astounded. Elrohir had explained it to me. The Ainulindalë was their song of creation, their Genesis.  
"Well, we don't call it that… but in a way, I guess, we do." Perhaps you really could call the efforts of our human philosophers, our scientists, our religious leaders, our artists, writers and poets a song of creation.  
"You are not as different from us as I had thought," Mínuíal announced suddenly. Then she smiled brightly. "Well, I knew you couldn't be, since you are bound to Elladan's brother."  
"Bound?" I stared at her, wide-eyed and confused.  
Now it was her turn to look confused. "Bound! Don't you mortals join your hearts and souls and minds with their one true love?"  
I gaped at her. What was she talking about now? "We do love. And we marry. Some people believe in true love or even love at first sight. But that never happened to me."  
"No, no, no; I am not talking about falling in love and marriage. Don't you know about the meaning of a true joining? A joining of hearts and souls and minds, which lasts beyond the circles of this world?"  
"Literally?" I stared at her, nausea rising from my stomach.  
Her blue eyes widened with shock at my ignorance, her voice shaking slightly, when spoke again. "It does not happen to all of us. It is a blessing of the Valar, bestowed upon the greatest lovers of my people... I knew Elrohir would not come with us, and when I saw you, well, you are only a mortal, but with Luthien and Beren, there are precedents… I was so relieved to see that he had been blessed with a true joining, too… How can it be possible that you don't know about this?"

How can it be possible that I am sitting in a tent with an Elvish princess telling me that… that I have… that I am… the one true love of an Elf, an Elf as in an Elvish Elf of Middle-earth? True love? Joining? Lasting beyond this world? In a game?

But even as the thought formed in my mind, I felt the truth of it in my soul; my heart started to race and I felt myself trembling all over, like a leaf in the wind. Mínuíal looked at me shivering, and there was pity in her eyes as she walked over to me.  
"You have to talk about this to Elrohir, or evil will come of it," Mínuíal said, taking my hands, drowning me in her intense blue gaze, piercing my thoughts with the power of her immortal mind. Then she released me, and stepped back.  
"_Elo_!" She cried, looking at me with her eyes wide with wonder, and I shivered at the thought of what she might have perceived in me. "Strange are the paths of destiny! And little do we forgotten ones perceive of the Valar's and Eru's intentions. _Galu an-chen_, blessing for you,_ muínthel-nîn_, my sister. I am sad that we have only so little time to know each other."

**oooOooo**

When I had calmed down, we returned to the others; Elladan and Elrohir were still deeply involved in the telling of some childhood pranks, which had Doron laughing out loud.

I slid back into my chair and accepted their aromatic after-dinner drink, which reminded me both of coffee and cocoa. I sipped at the hot liquid, and inhaled the fragrant steam, but inside my mind I felt completely frozen, unable to string two thoughts together.

When we lay in our bed that night, curled against one another, Elrohir's mingled feelings of happiness and grief covered me like a second blanket. Keeping my thoughts as silent and unobtrusive as possible, questions were repeating themselves in my mind, over and over again, in a steady rhythm, like a mantra. Is it true, is it true, how can it be true, what shall I do, and again, is it true, is it true…

The twins spent the next day together.

I stayed in the tent, staring at the finely woven cloth, trying to count the threads.

Mínuíal kept me company, keeping her own sadness at the twins' parting hidden.

Instead, the Elven woman tried valiantly to cheer me up, telling me tales about the famous lovers of Elvish legends. Although the Avari had been forgotten by the Valar and the other Elves, they had apparently not forgotten their kindred; at least they shared all their legends enthusiastically. Perhaps because they themselves were a part of these legends, I mused, trying in vain to keep my mind on Mínuíal's story.

The next day was worse. Everything but the tents and the bedding had been transported to the ships. Many Elves stayed already on board of the ships. The sight of the Elvish ships – lit with many lanterns, colourful banners fluttering from their masts –, and the sound of their evening songs – sung in their singularly pure voices, which drifted ashore with the breeze –, were almost too beautiful to bear.

Elrohir did not really sleep the following night. He lay with his eyes open, staring at the ceiling of the tent. Of course, as an Elf, he might have been asleep nevertheless, but I knew that Elrohir actually preferred to sleep as humans do, with their eyes closed; although he did that only when he felt safe, walking the strange paths of Elvish dreams at other times with his eyes open to the world. But he did not even do this that night. His breathing was irregular, and he moved restlessly now and again.

I could not sleep either, thinking about Mínuíal and Elladan, their departure on the following day, Elrohir and this cursed choice, true love, games and reality.

Was it possible that a love born of myth and legend could live beyond the circles of a world?

Would I want it to?

**oooOooo**

On the fourth morning, the Avari set sail for the Lands of the Sun.

Again it was a cold grey morning. Swirling mists danced on the waves and hid the outlines of the shore. The gleaming white shapes of the Elvish ships and their colourful banners and ribbons were barely visible in the haze. Now and again a lantern would light up the slow dawn like a star, or a white mast and hull would gleam through the fog. But the strong, tall ships, which I had watched being loaded during the last few days, seemed insubstantial this morning, like phantoms of a dream, remnants of half-forgotten legends.

Doron, Mínuíal and Elladan waited to the last moment to board the flagship. Their boat was waiting for them down on the beach, along with four silent Elvish guards in green and gold livery to row them to the ship.

It was time to make our farewells.

I was discomfited by Doron's formal embrace of farewell.  
Mínuíal gave me a small wooden box and called me sister.  
Elladan held me almost painfully tight, and whispered something into my ear.

I had to turn away quickly, to hide my tears.

Elrohir and Doron embraced like father and son.  
Afterwards Doron walked down the beach to the rowing boat.  
Elrohir embraced Mínuíal and kissed her formally on both cheeks.  
She blushed and dashed at her eyes, but the tears kept running down her cheeks like glittering drops of crystal. She tried to smile at us, and then she, too, turned and ran down the beach to the boat, which was waiting to bear them away.

Now it was time for the brothers to make their farewells.

I turned away from them and walked away a little, to give them privacy for their last farewell.

I watched them from the distance. I do not think that they said anything to each other.

Two tall figures, cloaked in grey, they stood among the swirling mists of an October morning at the Eastern Seas. Two princes of the firstborn they were, their faces clear and untouched by the passage of centuries, and their eyes shone like silver stars through the haze.  
They embraced.  
They held their embrace for long moments.  
Then they parted and Elladan walked down to the boat.  
He did not turn back and within moments the small craft had disappeared in the fog.

I walked back to Elrohir, my feet slipping in the soft sands of the dunes.

I stood next to him and followed his gaze out into the swirling mists.  
Elvish voices echoed back to the coast, calling commands. Muffled by the fog, the groaning of wood drifted across to us as the ships were readied to sail. With a soft rushing sound the great sails unfurled, gleaming brightly through the mists. As if on cue, the wind rose and turned, blowing in a stiff breeze from the West. The sails billowed. The ships jerked to the wind. The sun broke through the mists, and the fog dispersed in swiftly disappearing patches.

The ships picked up speed. Blue and green waves rushed against their bows, cresting in white crowns of foam, spray flying. Silver gulls were wheeling above the masts, wailing farewells of their own.  
Leaving the shores of Arda behind them, the voices of the Avari lifted in song.

They were greeting the sun and asking for blessing.  
And to my astonishment, I recognized the song they were singing.

_"A Elbereth Gilthoniel,  
silivren penna míriel  
o menel aglar elenath!  
Na-chaered palan-díriel  
o galadhremmin ennorath,  
Fanuilos, le linnathon  
nef aear, sí nef aearon!"_

The Valar might have forgotten the Avari. But the Avari had not forgotten the Valar, even if they had never followed their call to the shores of Aman the Blessed, and never would.

**oooOooo**

The Avari sailed into a glorious sunrise of golden fire. We watched until the white ships seemed to have sailed straight into the fiery globe of the sun, until we could not stand the glare of the sun's own fire any longer.

When the sun had climbed high enough in the sky to make out the horizon again, the ships of the Avari, and Elladan, were gone.

**oooOooo**

**

* * *

**

**Please feel free to leave a comment!**

_Anything at all: _if you noticed a typo, if you did not like a characterization or a description, if you thought a line especially funny, if there was something you particularly enjoyed or if you have a question...

I am _really_ interested in knowing what my readers think about what I write.

You can find my replies to the comments in my fan fiction LiveJournal, user name: juno_(underscore)_fanfic, tagged as "Game – comments". Simply look for the chapter you commented on and you should be able to find my reply!

Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed this chapter.

Yours   
JunoMagic


	21. It's True Then

**A/N:** This chapter is rated "R", just to remind everyone…

* * *

**oooOooo**

**21. It's True Then**

When I woke, I looked into Elrohir's silvery grey eyes.  
Our legs were tangled between sleeping bags, blankets and our cloaks. Other than that we were not touching.

"Hey…" I sighed softly.  
"Hey…" He answered.

His dark hair was tousled, and he was very pale. There were shadows under his eyes. He looked as if he had not slept at all.  
Slowly I reached out to him and trailed the elegant line of his face, stroking from the tip of the pointed ear, across the cheekbones and jaw down to the somewhat stubborn chin.  
He exhaled shakily, releasing some of the tension I felt in his body.

Suddenly I felt his heart beat in tune with my own, his breath flow with my own breathing, and his tears choke my throat. I closed the distance between us, tracing the muscles of his arms and chest with feathery light touches, and then softly touched his mouth with my lips.  
As I lost myself in his silvery gaze, I recalled suddenly what Mínuíal had told me.

_Is it true,_ I thought._ Can it be true?_  
A shivery whisper, I heard Elrohir's voice in my mind, sad and weary, but as clear as if he had used audible words.  
_Do you really want to know?_  
My heart beating like a drum, the thought formed in my heart and mind almost on its own accord.  
_Yes, I do._

His eyes blazed like silver stars, as he raised himself slightly. Kissing me deeply, he pressed me back into the covers. His silky hair whispered across my stomach and my breasts, raising my nipples and making me shiver uncontrollably. He kissed me again, a long lingering kiss, which started at my temples and slid down to my lips. His slender fingers travelled down my throat, played along my collarbone and trailed down my breasts, cupping them passionately.  
A low moan escaped my lips and I arched my back, pushing me against him.

Slowly our boundaries dissolved and I felt myself drowning in a sea of sweet touches and passionate caresses, our hearts completely in tune…

Suddenly the world turned golden around me. Mutual desire fulfilled itself in an unbelievable explosion of sensation and white, pure light flared to life in us and around us.

We were one.

One body, locked together in passion.  
One heart, filled with love.  
One mind, numb with emotion.  
One soul, joined for all eternity.

_It's true, then_, I thought. 

**oooOooo**

**

* * *

**

**Please feel free to leave a comment!**

_Anything at all: _if you noticed a typo, if you did not like a characterization or a description, if you thought a line especially funny, if there was something you particularly enjoyed or if you have a question...

I am _really_ interested in knowing what my readers think about what I write.

You can find my replies to the comments in my fan fiction LiveJournal, user name: juno_(underscore)_fanfic, tagged as "Game – comments". Simply look for the chapter you commented on and you should be able to find my reply!

Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed this chapter.

Yours   
JunoMagic


	22. What Is Real?

**22. What is Real?**

"A day on the beach," I declared. "A day on the beach! No thinking, no sorrowing, no deciding, just fooling around."  
And who was I trying to fool here?  
Elrohir raised an amused eyebrow. "If you think it will help…"  
His grief had settled into a permanent faint shadow in his silvery gaze. But he had subdued his desperation. Now he was sitting at the fire of our camp site, preparing our morning tea.

I knew it would not help.  
But I – we – would have to decide soon.  
Time was running out.  
Winter was not far away, and with it the deadline of Elrohir's choice.

I blew on the surface of the hot tea in my beaker. Steam wallowed up from the tea, hot and fragrant in the cool air of this fall morning.

The wood was warm and incredibly smooth in my hands. The tea was wonderfully hot and sweet with honey.  
My skin still echoed with the soft touches of the night. I glanced at Elrohir, who had curled his long slender fingers around his own beaker of tea and was gazing out to the sea.

My heart skipped a beat, as the wind parted his hair and revealed his clear-cut profile, from the delicately pointed ear to the pronounced lines of jaw and chin. The dark tendrils of hair settled around his shoulders like a silken cloak.

I shivered slightly. The wind was cold, and I was grateful for the warmth of the fire and the internal heat of the tea. The water had been high in the night, the sand of the beach was wet up high. There were many bits and pieces of flotsam and shells, which had been swept ashore during night, scattered above the line of water. The air tasted of salt and seaweed and the acrid smoke of the burnt drift-wood of our camp fire.

_Was this real?_

I set down the beaker and looked at my hands.  
They were different.  
They were still my hands, of course. Large hands for a woman, and though my fingers are long and slender, not really female and delicate. I have strong hands, capable hands. I have always liked that about my hands, although I did never have much opportunity in the – other world, of really using my hands. That's what was different about them, I realized suddenly. My hands looked used. The nails were really short, and some were broken. There were calluses from sword practice and carrying logs. There were scratches and there were spots of dirt, which had not rubbed off entirely during the quick wash in the icy water of the ocean the night before.

_ Actually, my hands looked more real to me than they had before._

"About this day on the beach," Elrohir asked. "Could you explain that concept to this poor, confused Elf?"  
I smiled at him. I felt like going over to him and curling up next to him, and remaining like that for the rest of my life.

_How can I know what is real?_

"A day on the beach is intended to be fun and relaxing," I explained. "It's about walking hand in hand along the sand, looking for sea shells. Or running up into the dunes, getting covered in sand. Swimming and splashing each other. Well, perhaps not in October." I cast a dubious look at the grey and green waves. The water was icy, I knew from trying to clean myself up in it last night. "Wading, perhaps. A fire in the evening. Songs and stories. Star-gazing." I elaborated. Then I caught a twinkle in his eyes.

This treacherous Elf had been having me on!  
I tried to look offended. The grin, which kept sliding across my face, defeated this purpose, however.  
"Well, what do you think, is there time for a day on the beach?"  
_A-chen lû annatha. For you there will always be time._  
My heart quickened, and I swallowed hard.  
For a moment I felt an echoing heart beat.  
I evaded his silver gaze.

_God help me!_

**oooOooo**

"How about a walk on the beach?" I asked after we had finished breakfast and securely banked the fire. Elrohir smiled at me, returning to his earlier joke. "If that is how it is properly done… Let's go!"  
He offered me his right hand.

I put a blanket and some food for a picnic in my pack, and then took his hand, smiling up at the tall Elf.  
Bare-footed we ran and slid down the soft powdery slopes of the dunes to the cool hard sand of the wet beach. I gasped at the cold of the water, as the first wavelet touched my toes and jumped back, causing Elrohir to stumble.

We steadied each other, laughing like loons.  
"One would think, with your hot mortal blood that you could stand the cold of the water easier than I do," Elrohir commented.  
"And I think it is perfectly annoying that you Elves are completely impervious to the small discomforts of existence!" I quipped back.  
The Elf grinned at me, tightening his hold on my hand.

We walked along the beach for a long time in silence, skipping waves, now and then stopping to pick up a pretty shell or a colourful pebble.

_Had I ever felt happier?  
Had I ever felt more real?_

At noon the clouds parted suddenly, and the sun appeared, bathing us in unexpectedly warm golden sunshine. The rays glittered on the waves and gleamed in Elrohir's dark hair, adding silvery reflections to the darkness of his long tresses.

"What do you think?" I said, pointing to the high, rounded summit of a dune ahead. "Is that a suitable place for a picnic? Not that we have much left in the way of picnic goodies…"  
We had some fruit and cakes left by the Avari, that was about it, apart from lembas. And you did not eat lembas for a lazy day on the beach.  
"Eminently suitable." Elrohir replied.

It proved to be quite a hike to get up on the dune. There was no trail, and the sand was soft and slippery. When we were finally up on its top, I was out of breath and sweaty.  
I looked around.

From up on the dune, you had the loveliest view of the beach to the North and the South, the ocean to the East and the hills of heather to the West.  
"You are right, melethril-nîn." Elrohir said softly, looking around. "It is indeed lovely."

I spread out the blanket and we shared a lunch of fruit and slightly stale cakes, which I had brought with us, washing the food down with sparkly clear water from the spring, which flowed out of the heathery hills close to our camp site. Afterwards Elrohir lay down on the blanket, his eyes glazing over as he drifted to the strange realms of Elvish dreams. But he was relaxed, so the dreams probably were good ones.

I sat down at the edge of the blanket, facing towards the sea.

I loved the sea. I could look out across the waves forever and let me be soothed by there endless motion.

I dug my hand into the sand in front of me. It was cool, but dry to the touch. The finely grained sand trickled easily through my fingers. Only a few grains remained stuck to my slightly sweaty skin, glittering in the tiny creases of my palms. I looked at the lines of my palms and tried to recall what I knew about palmistry, but nothing much came to mind. And I did not believe in that, anyway. The horizontal lines at the edge of your hand, just below the smallest finger delineate how many children you will bear, I remembered and turned my hand. Three lines. I raised my eyebrows. Really? I had not thought about having even one child up until now. The large arc around the thumb is supposed to be the line of my life, I recalled. I squinted my eyes, looking at the line. It was broken in places, and there seemed to be second line arching across my palm, paralleling the first.

I had no clue what this could mean.

I sighed.

_What could I do?  
What could help me to decide?_

Unconsciously I played around with my pack. The pack looked worn and weathered by now, its colour had faded into an undistinguishable shade of greyish green. The cloth was fraying at the top, and the front was stained with sweat.

I felt two square shapes in its depth and pulled them out.  
The first was a simple wooden box, quite scratched and worn, from being carried at the bottom of the pack all over Middle-earth. I set it down in the sand in front of me and shuddered. I knew what it contained.

The second was the intricately carved wooden box Mínuíal had given me as a gift of farewell.

With trembling fingers I opened it.  
My heart seemed to stop.  
My breath caught in my throat in a low moan.  
I almost let go of the box, and only just in time managed to set it carefully down on the sand next to the other box.

I stared at the contents of the box, my heartbeat echoing in my ears like a drum.

Securely stuck in blue velvet there were two rings of delicately interwoven strands of silver.  
They seemed to be braided of silver hair, but when I touched them gingerly, I felt the cool touch of precious metal.

_Elvish betrothal rings.  
Oh my._

I started shivering all over.

_Real._

I had to admit to myself what I was feeling.

_Real. More real than anything I had ever felt before._

Suddenly I knew that it was time.  
I could not escape from this decision anymore than Elrohir could escape from his choice.  
But it was not a decision I could make alone.  
A slow smile dawned on my face and I felt hope grow in my soul.  
I was not alone in this decision.

"Elrohir?" I called out softly.  
He blinked. Then he slowly sat up, looking at me, his silver gaze intense.  
"What is it?" His voice was deep and tender, like a caress in the moonlight.  
"I had a look at the parting gift Mínuíal gave me. I thought that perhaps you wanted to see it, too." I hesitated, and then continued with a slight tremble to my voice. "I think, maybe the gift was meant for both of us."

With a lithe crawl he came over to me and sat down behind me, looking across my shoulder at the wooden box and the rings. I felt his sharp intake of breath as if it was my own, and as his heart sped up, I felt my own heart beat quicken, too.  
I turned around to face him and my cold, cold fingers wrapped around his arms.

"Do you have to… will you go to Aman?"  
His silver gaze seemed to drown me.  
"Do you have to… will you go back to your world?"  
He asked, his voice husky with emotion.  
"If you want me to stay…" I whispered, my voice shaking.  
"If you want me to stay," he gave back, his voice firm and full of warmth.

There was a moment of silence.  
I felt I could hear my heart beat, rolling like thunder around us.  
_Real._ I thought, as Elrohir's hands slid around my waist, holding me tightly.

Suddenly I found my voice, and it was firm and full of joy.  
"Yes." I said. "I will stay. Here. With you. Where ever you go. Forever."  
His eyes blazed like silver stars, and his hands held me almost painfully tight.  
He bent forwards and touched his lips to mine with a kiss of singular sweetness.  
He drew back a little and inhaled a shuddering breath.  
"Then forever I will stay, too. To live with you, to die with you. Melethril-nîn."

There was a moment of heaviness in the air, when he had spoken, as if the wheel of fate halted for a moment. Then the wind blew again across our skin and the sound of the waves rushing to the shore was back in our ears.

The choice of the Half-Elven had been made.

The choice had been registered with the fates and Eru Ilúvatar, and the Valar Themselves, far away in golden Aman, the Blessed Realm, which this son of Elrond now would never see.

Now there was no ship in all of this world, which could bear Elrohir away from Arda to the Undying Lands of the West.

**oooOooo**

I exhaled shakily.  
But Elrohir smiled at me, a smile of youth and happiness, and reached around me with his right hand, taking up the small wooden box with the silver rings.

He looked me deep into the eye, smiling softly, as he took my right hand.  
"Will you, Jarro, ranger from beyond the void, marry me and be the light of my life beyond the circles of this world?" He asked, picking up the smaller ring with his left.

Feeling shivery with excitement and happiness, I picked up the larger ring, my hand shaking slightly and replied.  
"Yes, I gladly will." I paused, and then added. "And will you, Elrohir, son of Elrond, marry me and be the light of my life beyond the circles of this world, too?"  
"Yes, I will." He answered, a smile of absolute joy spreading over his face. I thought my heart would burst with that same joy, as a smile of equal happiness, which seemed to be too big for my face tugged at my lips.

He carefully slid the ring onto my right ring finger.  
I felt his hand tremble in my left, as I in turn slid the other ring onto his right ring finger.

Clasping our hands together, we fell into each other's arms, the embrace turning into lingering kisses, the kisses turning into heated touches of desire, until the world faded around us, and there was nothing left but passion, a white fire erupting from our hearts, souls, minds and bodies.

**oooOooo**

A long time later I picked up the remains of our picnic. I shook out the blanket and stuffed it back into my pack. Elrohir slung the bag across his shoulder and held out his hand to me.

Laughing and kissing at the same time we slid down the dune towards the beach.  
We walked down to the water with our hearts light and full never known joy.

"Back to the camp?" He asked, raising his eyebrows meaningfully.  
"Definitely," I agreed, grinning broadly. "I need some lembas to regain my stamina."  
He chuckled at that. "You? Never!"  
And he dropped a delightful kiss into the palm of my right hand, a ray of sunshine sparkling on the silver of the ring.

When we had walked a yard or two back into the direction of our camp I remembered something.

"Wait a moment, meleth-nîn. I have forgotten to do something."  
He stopped and looked at me questioningly. But I shook my head and ran back to the spot at the shore, where we had come down from the dune. The coast started to get rocky here, and the water seemed to be very deep even close to the shore.

I felt for the scratched wooden box in the pocket of my trousers. There it was.

I took it out and looked at it one last time.

Then I drew back my right arm as far as I could.  
I put all my power into the throw.  
With a mighty heave I cast the box into the air.  
At that moment, the sunlight hitting the Elvish ring made it blaze like a star.

The box flew in a perfect wide arc towards the dark green and blue waves, breaking in white foam against the rocks.

It hit the water with a splash and was gone instantly.

I turned and ran across the cool, wet sands towards Elrohir, who swept me up into a tight embrace, swinging me round and round. When he finally set me down, my head was swirling, and his lips finding my mouth kindled a low moan of desire.

A moment later I smiled up at him, feeling deliriously happy and relieved, as if a heavy weight, a weight I had not even realized, had forever been lifted from my heart.

"Where shall we go?" I asked.  
Elrohir grinned down at me and clasped my hand tightly.  
"I rather liked Esgaroth." He told me. "With those dwarves around, I would not be too strange, I guess."  
He considered the idea, his grin growing broader with confident anticipation.  
"I could become a teacher. Or a fisher. Or a hunter. Or – what do you think?"

**oooOooo**

**

* * *

**

**Please feel free to leave a comment!**

_Anything at all: _if you noticed a typo, if you did not like a characterization or a description, if you thought a line especially funny, if there was something you particularly enjoyed or if you have a question...

I am _really_ interested in knowing what my readers think about what I write.

You can find my replies to the comments in my fan fiction LiveJournal, user name: juno_(underscore)_fanfic, tagged as "Game – comments". Simply look for the chapter you commented on and you should be able to find my reply!

Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed this chapter.

Yours   
JunoMagic


	23. Game Over

**A/N: **Please remember that this story is rated "R"!

* * *

** oooOooo**

**23. Game Over**

Dr. Jim Watkins looked impatiently at his watch.  
It was 17:30; Ms Jarro McCourt was due to wake from her day of game testing any minute now.

He felt slightly nervous about his intentions to ask her out this very evening.  
He was not usually a spontaneous person.  
But if he did not take heart today, he would probably never meet her again.  
He glanced shyly at her pretty face and her enchanting smile.  
He wondered for a moment who it was that she smiled at in the game.  
Perhaps she would tell him, he mused.

He swallowed hard.  
He would ask her out.  
It was not that difficult, after all. Just ask her!  
He could do that.  
He would do that.

Suddenly the alarms of the monitors blasted to life.  
He was instantly on his feet, his eyes going to the monitors.  
No heart beat.  
No brain activities at all.  
Without stopping to think he raced for the emergency equipment, and called for his colleague at the top of his lungs.

Within moments he was trying to bring the girl back to life.  
Dr. Miller was administering oxygen.  
He waited for the paddles of the defibrillator to load.  
A ping told him that the device was ready to be used.  
"Back," he cried, and turned the defibrillator on.  
The girl's body jerked.  
He bent over her to check for breathing, heart beat, and reflexes.  
Nothing.  
He tried again.  
Her back arched with the shock of the defibrillator racing through her.  
Nothing.  
The ambulance arrived.  
Injections, oxygen, again the defibrillator.  
Nothing.

Finally he stepped back from the dead body of the girl, who had been Jarro McCourt and pronounced the time of death, his voice shaking, and his face clammy with sweat.

"Jarro McCourt. Time of death, 17:47, Saturday, August, the 21st, 2004."

The crew of the ambulance put Jarro McCourt's body on the stretcher and carried her away.  
He knew there would be an autopsy.  
But he did not care.  
He felt shaken to the core of his soul.  
Why had she died?  
Why had she collapsed all of a sudden?

He tried to recall if there had been anything unusual, anything at all, which should have alerted him to a threatening stroke or heart failure.  
He shook his aching head.  
There had been nothing.  
No warning at all.  
There should have been something.  
Those monitors were state of the art, picking up any neural whisper, sensitive to the slightest irregularity of heart beat and blood pressure.

There had been nothing at all to hint at an impending collapse.

An hour or two ago, he had thought something was odd about her vital signs, true.  
But it had been nothing he could pinpoint.  
His colleague had not recognized anything out of the ordinary, too.

Had he missed something?  
Was he responsible for her death?

He was too frozen with shock and the slow ebbing of the adrenaline, which had surged into his blood with the emergency to notice the computer expert entering the room.  
Mr. Smith was pale as a sheet, and his hands were shaking.  
In a daze, Mr. Smith walked to the computer, which had played and controlled the game.  
He had been advised not to take anything away or make any changes, because the police would be along to check everything later.  
But he had to know.  
He had to know if there was anything obviously wrong.  
If there was anything on the read-outs to show a fatal error of the game.  
A killing error.

He called up the read-outs of the game.  
With trembling fingers he hit the buttons to call up the relevant information.

He stared at the figures.

He tried different keys.

He stared at the figures.

He lifted a shaking hand to rub his eyes with fingers cold as ice with shock.

He tried another set of keys.

An image formed on the screen.

"How is that possible?" He cried with his voice breaking.

Mr. Smith's sudden exclamation made Dr. Jim Watkins jump. His heart racing he looked up at the computer expert, who looked as if he had seen a ghost.

"Is something wrong with the game?" He asked, his voice half-choked. "Has the game killed her?" He felt a sudden, unreasonable surge of anger and hatred at the computer man. If it was the game, he would kill this freak! He clenched his shaking hands into fists, so hard that his knuckles stood out whitely, and the veins sprang up in thin blue lines on the backs of his hands.

Mr. Smith slowly, dazedly turned towards the physician.

"Yes," he said, and his voice trembled. "There is something wrong. But I cannot see how this error could have killed her."

He looked back at the screen, and then pointed at the image displayed there.

"The game never started. Look at this picture. This is all she can have seen. A still picture! The game never started. Nothing can have happened in there at all! She should have woken up again almost instantly. I don't understand that! The game never started!"

Dr. Jim Watkins stared at the computer man. Then he rose slowly and walked over to look at the screen. Mr. Smith was right.  
The image on the screen was a still picture.  
It was a landscape, a very pretty landscape.  
But it was completely lifeless.  
Nothing moved there.  
Nothing was alive there.  
No person.  
No animal.  
Nothing.  
Nobody sane would have stayed there for hours and hours.

Mr. Smith was right.

The game had never started.

How was it possible that Jarro McCourt had spent the entire day lying here, apparently in trance, apparently in the game?

Why had the monitors shown exactly the neural activities Dr. Jim Watkins had recognized from the other test runs?

Why in hell had Jarro McCourt died?

**oooOooo**

After Mr. Smith and Dr. Watkins finally left the room, the picture on the computer screen remained peaceful and undisturbed.

The picture showed a large oak tree, a few feet away from the muddy lanes of a narrow country road. A grassy lawn spread at the foot of the tree. The landscape on the other side of the road showed soft green hills and groups of budding trees. There were hedges of blooming whitethorn. It was a lovely scene, idyllic, rural and lush with spring. The sky above the hills was blue as can be, with white fluffy clouds, and everything looked crisp and inviting. 

**oooOooo**

**

* * *

**

**Please feel free to leave a comment!**

_Anything at all: _if you noticed a typo, if you did not like a characterization or a description, if you thought a line especially funny, if there was something you particularly enjoyed or if you have a question...

I am _really_ interested in knowing what my readers think about what I write.

You can find my replies to the comments in my fan fiction LiveJournal, user name: juno_(underscore)_fanfic, tagged as "Game – comments". Simply look for the chapter you commented on and you should be able to find my reply!

Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed this chapter.

Yours   
JunoMagic


	24. Interlude: The Legend of Elladan and Elr...

**24. Interlude: The Legends of Elladan and Elrohir**

It had been another cold winter's day. The morning had been bright and frosty, and during the night a whole foot of snow had fallen. The children had raced out of the cabins shouting with glee, giving the adults enough peace and quiet to get some work done.

But already at noon the weather had changed; the winds had increased in strength, and early in the afternoon the piercing gusts had turned into a veritable blizzard. The children had been called back inside, and within two hours the pale sun had disappeared in the darkness of yet another winter storm.

The children, all seventeen of them, had gathered at the large mansion of the mayor, where the old story teller lived for the winter months. The adults might grumble occasionally about the weird ideas the little ones brought back home from the story telling, but in the end it was easier to put up with children believing in Elves and dwarves than having grouchy children underfoot all the time during the long winter months.

Outside the storm winds were howling with fell voices. Inside, the large kitchen was comfortably warm from the large fire place, the oven and the hearth. The overhead lights had been put out, to save on the candles and the lamp oil, and because the children insisted that the flickering flames of the fire and their dance of lights and shadows added to the atmosphere of the nightly story telling.

Every child of the small logging village was present, from three year old Ilka to sixteen years old Lynna. There were even some adults, pretending to have some work to do in the kitchen, polishing silverware or cracking nuts for a cake, which should be baked in the morning.

The old story teller sat in her customary spot in the shadows next to the fire place. She adjusted her headscarf and drew her faded grey cloak tighter around her bony shoulders.  
Little Eric, the ten years old son of the carpenter had seated himself on a rug at her feet and was looking up at her with shining eyes. His older sister, Lynna, was seated on the bench, very respectably, already more a woman than a girl, but eager for tonight's story all the same, perhaps even more so.

"I want to hear of Elves," Eric announced. "Please, tell us of Elves!"  
"And warriors!" That was Jens.  
"And magic!" Piped up little Mary.  
"I want a sad tale," Nina added, producing an immense white kerchief, which would be sufficient to deal with a flood of tears.  
Lynna did not say anything, only raised annoyed eyebrows at her little brother and his friends.  
The story teller smiled to herself. She knew what the girl – not yet woman, but almost – wanted to hear about.  
A love story.  
Every girl wanted to hear about true love at sixteen.  
She cleared her throat.

"Tonight I will tell you the legend of Elladan and Elrohir, the twin sons of Elrond Half-Elven.  
Perhaps you remember from the story I told you last week that there was an Elvish ship hidden in a cave under the lighthouse of Dol Amroth?  
It was the last Elvish ship in all of Middle-earth, and it waited for Elladan and Elrohir, to carry them across the Sundering Seas to Aman, the Blessed.  
Elladan and Elrohir were, as sons of Elrond, peredhil, Half-Elven.  
At the end of the first age of the world, the Valar had given the peredhil the choice, which is known in the legends as the Half-Elven's Choice. This means that they could choose which race they wished to belong to, Elves or men."

"I would decide to be an Elf," Eric interrupted, and was shushed at once with angry hisses.

"Now, Elladan and Elrohir were half-elven. Born in Middle-earth, they took part in the struggles against the Enemy. They were rangers, too, and the bravest and most accomplished warriors imaginable. They were fierce, and proud, and their eyes were like silver stars.  
But at the end of the third age the Enemy was overthrown, and the shadow was lifted from Middle-earth.

And the Valar called their children, the Elves, home, to Aman, the Blessed.

But to Elrohir and Elladan Middle-earth was all the home they had ever known. They did not want to leave yet. They said that Arwen, the Queen of Gondor, and her children needed them yet. Because they had fought so valiantly in the Great Battle, the Valar granted them their wish, and Elladan and Elrohir were allowed to stay. Their choice was put off until the day the last Elves had left the shores of Middle-earth. Only then they would have to make their final choice, between Aman and an immortal life, and Arda and a mortal fate."

A sigh went through the room. A tragic choice! Old Linna, who had been cracking nuts at the kitchen table had already forgotten about her cake and was listening raptly.

"The years went by. Peace ruled Middle-earth and slowly the ravages of war were healed. Arwen's and Aragorn's children grew up and had children of their own. Finally Aragorn died, and Arwen followed him a year later. The last Elves left Middle-earth in the following years. The silvan Elves, or Teleri, who had tarried longest in Arda in the first age of the world, were again the last to leave these shores.

And the Valar appeared to Elladan and Elrohir in their dreams, and told them that on mid-winter's day, they would have to choose, and sail for Aman or remain in Middle-earth forever.

But although they were by now alone in Rivendell, and the world around them was changing, and the great-grand-children of their nieces and nephews did not know them any longer, the choice was difficult for them.

Especially Elladan had no desire for the paradise of Aman. There were too many places in Middle-earth he longed yet to discover, and he had always desired to see the Forgotten Lands in the East. He was restless, and for the first time in his long, long life, of more than three thousand years, he was at odds with his brother. Elrohir, or so it seemed to Elladan, had already decided to go to Aman. But Elladan could not find it in his heart to make the choice. And it was spring, and the road beckoned to him, telling of adventures to be had and discoveries to be made…

In the end Elladan told his brother that he needed to clear his mind and took his leave.

Elrohir blessed him and said good-bye, but his heart was heavy with sorrow. He knew his brother did not want to leave.

Days, weeks and months went by, spring turned into summer, and Elladan did not return; and the hour of their final choice drew closer.  
One day, Elrohir heard foot-steps on the silent terraces of Rivendell, and he hurried down the stairs, hoping to find his brother. But it was not his brother. He was astonished: the visitor was a young woman, clad as a ranger from the North. She had wanted to see the last Elves in Middle-earth, before the world was changed and the magic was gone. And lo! She found both Elf and magic at Imladris. Her name was Jarro, and she was a kind hearted and brave young woman. And when she heard of Elrohir's plight, she did not hesitate for a second, but offered to aid Elrohir in his search for his brother."

As the evening progressed, the story teller led her listeners many leagues to the East. Battles with orcs, meetings with dwarves, encounters with wild people from the East and mysterious Elves of the East – the children sat and listened with bated breaths.

"And so they finally reached the Eastern Shores of Arda, and looking down at the Eastern Seas, they beheld tall Elvish ships waiting to set sail."

Nina gasped at that. The story teller smiled at her.

"Oh, they were just as astonished as you are! Even thought they had seen the city of the Elves in the great forest of the Orocarni, it was a surprise to meet those forgotten Elves at last. And those Eastern Elves were not alone. As Elrohir raised his hands to greet the leader of the Eastern Elves, someone ran up to him and embraced him on the spot! It was his brother, Elladan, who had made his dream of reaching the Eastern Shores of Arda come true."

The fire was fed with new wood, and the high flames brought a star like gleam to the eyes of the story teller.

"But alas!" She continued. "The choice was finally upon them. And as it had been the destiny of Elros and Elrond in the first age, to part ways forever and beyond the circles of this world, the same fate was destined for Elrond's sons. After three thousands years of living and fighting side by side, the time had come for them to part. Both had found love and the blessing of the One was upon their souls.  
One day all parents have to let their children go, as one day a different kind of love will come first in the hearts of even the most loving brothers and sisters. That's the way of the world, with Elves and men alike.

So it came about that Elladan followed Mínuíal across the sea to the Lands of the Sun, and Elrohir chose a mortal life with Jarro, the ranger from the North. And they never met again, neither in this world or the next."

"How sad!" Nina called out. And the story teller caught the sparkle of tears in Lynna's eyes, although the young woman did not speak.

The story teller turned to Nina and smiled at the child. "You wanted to hear a sad tale, didn't you, hên-nîn? But it is not sad, because their loves were great and truly blessed."

"But he died! And he never saw his brother again!" The lower lip of the small girl wavered, trying to stay back threatening tears.

"He did die, yes. But only after a life that was long and full and good. They went back to Esgaroth, the white and golden city at the Long Lake. Elrohir became the wisest teacher, who ever dwelt in all the lands of Dale. They had three children, two girls and a boy. They grew old together, in happiness and peace. And although he never saw his brother again, he knew that Elladan was happy, too, and his love for his brother remained in his heart for all of his life."

After a moment of silence, the story teller added.  
"But the people of Middle-earth – if they indeed ever knew what really happened – soon forgot the true story of Elladan and Elrohir. They tell this tale differently. They say that Elladan loved Middle-earth too much to make his choice, but that he did not want to die, either. When he left Rivendell, he left to find an escape from the choice of the Valar. It is said that when he did not return, Elrohir set out to search for his brother, because he feared for him. But Elladan had reached the farthest Eastern Shores and had found no answer to his quest.

However, in the light of the morning sun he beheld a new and unknown country on the other side of the Eastern Seas, and he built a small boat, because he thought maybe this new country would hold a solution to his plight. One bright morning he set sail and disappeared into the East. He was never seen again. His brother is searching for him still, and the Elvish ship remains in its cave at Dol Amroth, waiting for Elrond's sons to bear them away to Aman, the Blessed. And in Aman their parents are waiting, looking to the East and for the white ship, which will never arrive."

"I liked the real story better," Eric announced, unconcerned by the sniffling sounds coming from the girls around him. "Did the Avari reach the Lands of the Sun? Is there a reason why the Valar have forgotten about them?"

The story teller felt a grin tugging at the corners of her mouth. "That, dear Eric, is a story for another night." 

**oooOooo**

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**Please feel free to leave a comment!**

_Anything at all: _if you noticed a typo, if you did not like a characterization or a description, if you thought a line especially funny, if there was something you particularly enjoyed or if you have a question...

I am _really_ interested in knowing what my readers think about what I write.

You can find my replies to the comments in my fan fiction LiveJournal, user name: juno_(underscore)_fanfic, tagged as "Game – comments". Simply look for the chapter you commented on and you should be able to find my reply!

Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed this chapter.

Yours   
JunoMagic


	25. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

A week after Jarro McCourt's death, the results of the autopsy rested in a neat file on the desk of the police officer charged with the investigation of her death.

The report of the autopsy stated that the girl had probably died of a stroke. She had been probably dead instantly and had not suffered any pain. It was unusual for such a young woman to die of a stroke, but not unheard of.

The file of the leading expert on neurally stimulating computer games was a considerably larger folder. This report explained all about this new kind of computer games, which were being developed, and what they did to the human mind.

Then there was a file compiled by computer experts and neurologists about the computer Jarro McCourt had been connected to at the time of her death. The malfunction of the program had been examined thoroughly. In the end no causal connection between the malfunction and the girl's death could be found.

Finally the investigation came to the conclusion that Jarro McCourt's death had been a tragic accident for which no one was to blame and the files were sent to the archive.

**oooOooo**

Jarro McCourt's parents sued "New Dimensions", the firm, which had hired Jarro McCourt for the testing of their new computer game. They tried to prove a connection between the game and her death and claimed she had not been properly informed about possible risks.

The trial made it to the front pages of some tabloids.

They lost, because the court did not find for a causal connection of any kind between the computer game, its malfunction and Jarro's death.

Nevertheless, the computer game never hit the market and the firm finally went bankrupt.

**oooOooo**

Somewhere in England there is a small graveyard with a soft grassy lawn. Close to its crumbling wall, which is almost overgrown with ivy, there is a small marker of new, smooth grey stone.

Inscribed on it is the name Jarro McCourt, her date of birth, her date of death, and a quote from one of her favourite books, "The Little Prince", by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry:

_"Anything essential is invisible to the eyes."_

There are small flowers in the grass above her grave, nothing fancy, only small daisies. But they bloom there all year, white and yellow, bright and cheerful.

**oooOooo**

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THE END

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**oooOooo **

**********************************************************Please feel free to leave a comment! **

_Anything at all:_ If you noticed a typo, if you don't like a characterization or description, if you thought a line especially funny, if there was anything you particularly enjoyed … I am really interested in what my readers think about my writing. Comments, concrit, congratulations (wink!) are always welcome.

You can leave a public comment (signed or anonymous), send me a private message, visit my forums or mail me off-site: juno _underscore_ magic _at_ magic _dot_ ms

Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed this story.

Yours  
JunoMagic


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